Legends of Garrett and Marcus: Mage's Pride
by White Lily of Wutai
Summary: This is the story of Champion of Kirkwall. This is a story you think you know. But what if there was another? Not a Hawke, but an Amell. The valiant Knight that fought in the shadows of the tale while the King took his credit. This is the story of the Champion of Kirkwall. This is the story you think you know. (Canon, for the most part. Rating will be bumped up as necessary.)
1. Act 1: Scene 1

**Literally nothing has changed except the chapter layout. Editing will come after I've finished the story.**

**That being said, welcome back, everyone.**

**Word count: 5,654**

**Warnings: Canon Divergence (though not for a while. Kinda), Canon-typical violence, slightly violent interrogation, Character Death.**

* * *

**Act I: Scene I: From Lothering to Kirkwall**

Varric… Wasn't entirely certain what was going on.

Well, from the shiny silver Templar uniforms and the rough treatment, he had an _inkling_ of what was about to go down, but he wasn't entirely certain how it had come to this.

Okay, in truth, he kind of did. To a point. Ancestor's cursed Hawkes.

Varric grunted as he landed on the hard stone chair. He twisted to sit more comfortably, growling, "You know, I've had gentler invitations."

The sight of the black-haired, copper-eyed woman in black Templar armor, glowing eye of the Chantry emblazoned proudly on her chest, reaffirmed any ideas his imagination may have dredged up.

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry."

Ah yes, the Seeker. Just as the rumors said, she truly did look like Serah Hawke. Her black hair, though a bit longer, was the same messy bedhead, the color of her eyes only the slightest bit off- copper, not whiskey, Hawke's whiskey-toned eyes were very distinctive. Similar face shape, too, just a bit softer with a more girlish curve. If she'd only had Garrett's trademark scar across the nose, Varric could swear she was the female version of his old friend.

Varric chuckled. "And just... what are you seeking?"

"The Champion."

"Which one?"

"You know exactly why I'm here!" Cassandra shouted, storming forward and throwing a book into Varric's face. It landed open in his lap. Varric recognized that book; he'd lost it not a week ago, in all the chaos of trying to leave Kirkwall. He never thought he'd see it again...

Varric froze at the sudden blade at his throat.

"Time to start talking, dwarf," Cassandra ordered, taking the blade and shoving it through a good half of the book. The dwarf jumped to avoid having a knife through his family jewels. "They tell me you're good at that."

Varric let out a short, strained laugh, examining the knife stuck in the book he'd so carefully written and illustrated. A damn waste…

"What do you want to know?" He wondered. Oh, playing with this one was going to be fun...

"Everything," the Seeker said quickly. "Start at the beginning."

Letting out a sigh, Varric looked down at the page the book had opened to, nostalgically running two fingers down the familiar Hawke crest.

"Now, I'm sure you've heard at least part of this before, so I can jump right in…"

...

Garrett and Carver Hawke ran into a broad flat clearing and right into a small group of darkspawn. The three creatures fell quickly to spells and sword.

"Scouts," Carver cursed, yanking his blade free. "Well, we'd have to fight them sooner or later." Hawke nodded, flicking the blood off his clawed hand and turning with Carver to confront the now-encroaching darkspawn threat that seemed to have risen from the very hills.

"Then we make our stand here."

More and more darkspawn fell to the near-unstoppable power of the Hawke siblings, but for every one they killed, three more took their place. They had limitless determination, but their foe was equally unending.

"We can't keep this up forever!" Carver exclaimed, snarling as he ripped his blade from a darkspawn corpse. His back hit his brother's, who was busy finishing a spell that set a good few enemies aflame.

"Whatever happens, we get through this together!" The older brother assured, readying himself for the next assault. A small group of darkspawn appeared over the hill.

"Shall I deal with them?" Carver asked, grinning.

"All yours, Brother."

And so they threw themselves back into the fray, cutting down foe after foe. Their enemy seemed limitless, and just when they thought it could get no worse…

The ground trembled. The hurlocks began to retreat, if only slightly, as a new foe came over the rise.

The ogre was larger than any creature they had ever seen! It was easily taller than ten men, with legs like tree-trunks and arms like thick bands of twisted steel! It's neck was like an ox, its horns those of a tainted dragon! It's roar was loud and fierce and would break the spirit of lesser men!

But Garrett and Carver were not lesser men. No! They were Hawkes, descendants of the great House Amell! They feared no man nor manner beast! They faced the ogre bravely, Garrett with his magic, Carver with his blade.

And when the great darkspawn fell, it fell with a howl that shook the heavens and the earth!

With the defeat of the great beast, however, came the return of the horde, and the Hawke siblings were tired and spent. They knew they could not win.

But ho! Hope was not lost! For from over the mountain the twins had been backed against came a great dragon, large as only the oldest of dragons, spiked and fanged and-

…

"Bullshit! That's not what really happened!" The Seeker exclaimed, waving her fist in Varric's face before backing off.

"Does that not match the story you've heard, Seeker?" Varric taunted, leaning back a bit in the chair.

"I'm not interested in stories," Cassandra proclaimed. "I came to hear the truth."

"What makes you think I know the truth?"

"Don't lie to me!" Cassandra shouted, stalking forward. "You knew him even before he became the Champion!"

Varric held his hands up in a placating manner. "Even if I did, I don't know where he is now." Trust Hawke to get him in trouble, even after he'd long left. Damn that man to whatever cruel fate could wait a person in the Beyond.

Cassandra turned away, clearly steaming. "Do you have any idea what's at stake here?" She asked.

"Let me guess," Varric sneered. "You're precious Chantry has fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war, and you need the one person who could help you put it back together."

The Seeker turned and stalked back, seemingly composed. "The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can't point me to him, tell me everything you know."

"You aren't worried I'll just make it up as I go?" Varric asked challengingly.

"Not. At. All," Cassandra rebuked, tone confident.

Varric smirked, leaning forward.

"You'll need to hear the whole story. But, let me tell you, some parts might not match the legend you think you know.

The Blight had been unleashed on Ferelden. Darkspawn poured out of the Wilds, clashing against the army at the ruins of Ostagar.

The battle… Was a disaster. King Cailan died on the field with his men, betrayed by his most trusted general.

Unopposed, the horde marched on the village of Lothering. The village burned, and many innocents were slaughtered. The Champion's family barely escaped in time…"

...

Leandra's cry caused both Garrett Hawke and Marcus Amell to turn back, rushing to her aid against the darkspawn. Bethany cast flames to block the path, but a few slipped through. Amell felled one with his blade. Carver and Hawke took care of the other.

Amell and Hawke nodded to each other before joining the rest of the group.

"I think that's all of them," Carver said.

"For the moment," Bethany added, helping to steady her mother.

"Maker save us," Leandra lamented. "We've lost it all. Everything your father and I built..."

"At least we're alive," Hawke said almost jokingly as he came to stand beside his mother. "That's no small feat." Amell raised one eyebrow and shook his head at his cousin's odd way of "reassuring" his mother.

"Yes. You're right," Leandra said.

Bethany scowled a bit, turning towards Carver. "We should have run sooner! _Why_ did we wait so long!?"

"Why are you looking at me?!" Carver exclaimed. "I've been running since Ostagar!"

Hawke, watching the slowly dying flames Bethany had created earlier, decided now was an excellent time to step in. "Speaking of running... Not to interrupt, really, but I don't think the Blight is going to wait while we stand here and point fingers."

"Please, listen to your brother!" Leandra insisted.

"Then let's go, _Brother._ Lead on," Carver growled.

Hawke sighed but started forward, Amell falling in right beside.

Now, Garrett Hawke and Marcus Amell might have been related, but they really looked nothing alike. While Amell had the white hair and silver eyes prominent among strong mage families, he had none of the magical talent normally associated with his family. And Hawke, with all his magic and power, looked nothing like an Amell descendant; instead, he was dark haired and whiskey-eyed like his father, Malcolm Hawke. Their personalities were fairly different too; where Hawke was snarky and sharp, Amell was polite and kind, like the balm for Hawke's burns.

…

"This can't be right," the Seeker protested. "The only Amell I've heard of was fighting his way through the Blight at the time."

"Well, technically, this one was too," Varric mumbled. A bit louder, he explained. "You see, Seeker: this Amell, like someone I once knew, was a ghost. Unlike said person, he was a good one. Funny how he's related to the Hero of Ferelden; from what I've heard, that man couldn't take two steps without being noticed. The Amell I knew couldn't get noticed to save his life."

A moment of silence stretched out as Cassandra processed the new information. A silence that was broken by Varric clearing his throat.

"So, can I go on now? Or do you need more time to wrap your head around this?" He asked. Cassandra looked as though she were still absorbing the new information, but she nodded.

"Continue."

…

It wasn't long before uncertainty began to show itself among the group once again.

"Wait!" Bethany called. The group slowed to a stop just before the rise to look back at her. "Where are we going?"

"Away from the darkspawn. Where else?" Carver said, impatient to get moving again. Amell shooshed him.

"And then where?" Bethany asked. "We can't just wander, aimlessly."

"Why not?" Hawke quipped, earning him a glare from both Carver and Amell. "As long as we wander aimlessly _away_ from the darkspawn, I'm happy."

Amell shook his head. "As much as I hate to do so, I have to agree with Hawke. So long as we stay together, I don't think it really matters."

Leandra looked thoughtful for a moment.

"We can go to Kirkwall," she finally said, confidant. Both Hawke and Amell looked doubtful. Bethany almost looked appalled.

"Well, that wouldn't be my first choice," Hawke said.

"There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, Mother," Bethany warned.

"I know that," Leandra argued. "But we still have family there. And an estate."

The group didn't take long to listen to their mother's- and in Amell's case, aunt's- voice of reason. Bethany sighed.

"Then we need to get to Gwaren and take ship," she said.

"If we survive that long," Carver grumbled, turning and walking over the rise. "I'll just be happy to get out of here."

Amell shook his head wordlessly as he and the rest of the group followed.

Right into a group of darkspawn.

Amell cursed loudly as he all but ripped his sword off his back and jumped into the fray, Carver right beside him. He could hear Bethany and Garrett behind him, standing in front of Leandra while invoking spell after spell.

The sounds of another tussle a little ways ahead caught the attention of the family. A female warrior stood at the side of a male Templar. The two were backed into a corner and desperately trying to fend off their opponents. The Templar struck one down, they cried out as he was caught from behind. His companion quickly jumped to his aid, tackling the assailant and beating it's face in before cutting off its head.

"You will not have him," she growled. She snatched up her partner's fallen shield and helped him to his feet, orienting herself so that she was between him and the darkspawn. More softly, she assured, " They will not have you. Not while I breathe."

Hawke and Amell exchanged a concerned but determined glance before leaping into the fray at the Templars' defense. Hawke made sure to reign in his magic, using only focused spells in such a close proximity to injured potential allies. Amell, however, completely let loose on the darkspawn, his sword a deadly blur of motion. Bethany and Carver backed them up, but gave Amell a wide berth. The wrath of an Amell is a terrible thing.

By the time they were done, the darkspawn had all but been torn to pieces. Hawke and Bethany watched the Templar and his companion warily. Amell stood between the two pairs protectively. The woman crouched beside the Templar, faced as pained as his.

"Stop squirming, Wesley," she said. Said Templar struggled to his feet from where he had sat on the ground in the aftermath of the combat. "You'll make it worse."

The man straightened unsteadily, turning towards Hawke and Bethany. The group had already sheathed their weapons, but Hawke kept his hand on his staff.

"Apostates, keep your distance," he growled. His partner looked between him and the group that had just saved them, uncertain as of what course of action would be wisest.

"Well the Maker has a sense of humor," Bethany snarked from behind Amell. she shook her head. "Darkspawn and now a Templar. I thought they all abandoned Lothering."

"The 'spawn are clear in their intent," the Templar continued firmly. "But a mage is always unknown. The Order dictates…" He staggered a bit, and his partner moved to assist him.

"Wesley…" She murmured. Her face looked pained, but her partner brushed her off.

"The Order dictates," he began again, stepping out of her grasp and towards the two mages, straightening to his full height. Amell became more aggressively protective, stepping forward so that he was almost chest-to-chest with the other man. His face hardened and lips pressed into a fine line. There was an icy kind of anger in his silver eyes, as if he hadn't quite come down from the battle-high.

"Dear, they saved us. The Maker understands," the woman said, clearly trying to defuse the situation. Amell and the Templar stood off for another moment before the Templar crumpled, face showing the pain his confidence- or bravado- was concealing. Amell huffed and shook his head as he took a step back towards his cousins.

"Of course," the Templar whispered, stepping back towards his partner. He staggered a bit, and she was right there to support him.

"I am Aveline Vallen," the woman said. "This is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we're safe from the horde."

"A strange time to be hunting apostates," Hawke sassed. He gestured to Wesley. "His fellows left with the Chantry Priests."

"I was traveling to Denerim on business for the Order," Wesley explained. "But, I- I had to turn south when I heard of Ostagar." He looked down, ashamed.

"Bad luck," Aveline began, giving her husband a hard glare before continuing, "and judgement brought us together here before the attack."

"The nice Templar has been convinced to postpone his hunt for illegal mages," Bethany mocked. She placed her hands on her hips and bent forward a bit in a pose reminiscent of one speaking to a small child. "So let's not dwell upon it, shall we?"

Aveline smiled and nodded. "Wise girl."

Hawke scowled a bit. "He's gentle for a mage-hunter," he muttered. "The wrath of the Templars is terrible indeed." Amell shot him a stern look, as if to say, "shut up," before turning to the couple.

"How bad is that wound?" He asked Wesley, gesturing towards the Templar's ripped and battered and bloody armor. "Can you keep up? We have to go."

Wesley frowned, flexing his wounded arm. "I fear my sword arm's lost, even with healing."

Aveline placed her hand on her husband's shoulders, face a bit softer. "Then you will have mine, as always." She hardened her visage as she turned to Hawke and Amell. "For now, we move with you. North is cut off. We barely escaped the main body of the horde."

Carver's eyes widened. "Then we're trapped!" He exclaimed. "The Wilds are to the south! That's no way out!" The rest of the group exchanged panicked glances or resigned looks.

"We have no choice," Amell broke in, gesturing to silence his youngest cousin, who was about to say something else. "The darkspawn have us fenced in." He stepped forward between Aveline and her husband, eyes hard, blade drawn, shield wide. "We go south."

Seeing no real reason to argue, the party fell in behind Amell. Leandra lingered for the briefest of moments, gazing upon the smoke rising above the hills in the direction of what was once Lothering. Of what was once her and her children's home. With a long blink and a sorrowful sigh, she turned away and followed her children and companions. The time for goodbyes was over, or so Leandra thought. All that was left was to move forward.

The path forward, through the Wilds, was littered with darkspawn. Amell himself felled more than he cared to count, and was covered in more blood than he cared to think about. He was tired; his muscles ached, his body begged for some kind of rest.

One look at the others told him they were faring no better. Especially Leandra and Wesley; Leandra was definitely not the kind of woman suited for such harsh travel, and Wesley was beginning to take on an almost sickly color as his wounds began to truly affect him.

_We can't keep going on like this_, Amell thought, ripping his sword from the body of a darkspawn emissary. His companions finished off the first batch of darkspawn, only to be faced with another. Amell was given no choice but to throw himself into the fight once more, even as his body screamed in protest. By the end, his fellows did not look much better than he felt.

_They can't go on like this._ He could hear Aveline's ever-reassuring voice reminding them that they needed to press deeper into the Wilds before the darkspawn got a chance to regroup. She had a fair point, but Amell made a show of stopping to loot the corpses, if only to give his companions a short time to rest. They needed it. Maker, did they all need it.

Hawke crouched beside Amell to help him strip the corpse of an unlucky refugee and gave his cousin a weak half-smile. The mage was in a bit better condition than the rest of the group, but only a bit. The constant casting of spells, especially the Creation magics that sustained them when they ever got in a tough spot or hurt, was beginning to wear on him, and without lyrium potions he had no way of replenishing his mana. It was likely only by sheer will that he was still able to maintain his usual, joking demeanor.

"Make the most of this rest," Amell murmured, eyes flashing to check on the rest of the rag-tag band. Aveline wasn't looking as near good as she sounded; she could barely hold her sword, barely stand with her normal confidence. Carver was resting against his massive sword planted in the dirt, the muscles of his arms quivering. Bethany was likely the most worse-for-wear out of those that could fight, but she kept flinting between her mother and Wesley to make sure they were as well as they could be.

Amell couldn't help but crack a smile at her valiant efforts to keep up moral. It was much appreciated, and he only wished he could do the same. But, upon finding that there really wasn't anything else to take from the dead, he was forced to called the group to move onward.

He had a nasty feeling about this next clearing, one that settle uneasily in the pit of his stomach. Whatever awaited them, it wasn't going to be good, he just knew it.

Hawke and Carver stuck to Amell's side as they made their way over the crest of the hill and into the clearing. Aveline walked not far behind the three, Bethany and Leandra a little ways behind her, and- finally- Wesley trailed in the very back, his wounds catching up to him in force. Amell noted all the possible entrances and exits to the clearing, already planning for the worst. Something did not seem-

The ground shook violently, startling and confusing the entire group. Hawke and Carver exchanged frightened looks. Aveline whirled around, trying to find the source of the calamity. Amell drew his blade and readied his shield, dread growing by the seconds past. From the path directly across from the one the group had come from- a path Amell had almost immediately ruled out as a potential escape route- came the largest darkspawn any of them had ever seen.

And it was charging straight for them.

Amell, Hawke, and Carver dove away swiftly, Aveline managed to avoid being hit by shear luck. Wesley had nothing to fear, hugging the wall a ways away from the rising combat. Bethany only just succeeded in pulling her and her mother aside before they were trampled beneath the ogre.

"Maker, give me strength," she prayed, readying a fireball and tossing it towards the beast. It brushed the flames off with a raised arm, rounding on its would-be attacker.

The whole clearing seemed to freeze. Amell shouted in warning. Carver watched in terror from where he was prone on the ground. Aveline reached for her sword and shield even as she moved towards the pair. Leandra cried out for her daughter. Hawke's eyes widened as he reached towards his sister as if to pull her away. It would have been no use, anyhow: he was too far away.

They all watched, in horror, in dismay, as the ogre picked Bethany up and slammed her against the ground multiple times, before tossing her aside as though she were a rag-doll.

"Bethany!"

The horrified scream tore itself from Hawke's throat, filled with dismay and _agony_. Amell winced in empathy. The younger mage couldn't have survived that. As much as he wanted to believe she could, as strong as she was, he _knew_ she couldn't. He couldn't do anything about that.

But vengeance? Yes, vengeance. Now that was something Amell _could_ do.

Hawke watch, paralyzed, as his cousin stepped toward the ogre, each stepped filled with terrible purpose. Anger, rage, pain; the emotions made the white-haired warrior's feet lighter, his exhaustion fade away.

Carver staggered to his feet and dragged his sword up with him, eyes foggy and lost. Aveline looked horrified and ill as she readied her sword and shield. But the two shook off their disorientation and fell in behind the other warrior. The chaos flowed off the man's shoulders, frightening and bolstering his teammates. With a wild roar, he dashed forward, blade flashing in the light.

As the three lept forward into an assault, Hawke stood back at a distance. But he held back no longer. Each spell was filled with as much power as he could push into it. Fire, ice, lightning, shields and healing spells of varying strength for his companions... It was painful, yes, but worth it. Well worth it, especially when it allowed him to literally rip the ogre to bloody pieces and spread them across the clearing.

Leandra rushed over to her fallen child's side, falling to her knees there.

"Bethany! Wake up! The battle is over, wake up!"

I'm sorry, mistress," Aveline said solemnly. "Your child… is gone." Leandra cried out in pain, and Hawke kneeled across from his mother.

"Perhaps… We should grieve when we're safe," Garrett suggested, face pained. His mother whirled on him, snarling.

"And what do you know about grief?!" She snapped. "How could you let her charge off like that?! Your baby sister! Oh, my poor baby girl… my sweetheart..."

Amell placed a hand on his aunt's shoulder. "She gave her life to save us," he muttered. Wesley stumbled up to them.

"Allow me to commend your daughter's soul to the Maker, mistress," he said. He placed a closed fist over his heart and bowed his head. "_Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young woman a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace she has found in eternity_."

Leandra gently laid her daughter's head on the ground, tears still streaming down her face.

"I will never forget you," she whispered. "Ever."

Hawke stood carefully, wincing at the pain and tiredness that rushed over his muscles. His home, now his sister…

"Our lives are much more important to her than our prayers," he said. He, Amell, Carver, and Aveline turned, back towards the berth of the clearing as darkspawn poured in.

Amell sighed. "Looks like we're too late."

Hawke nodded, preparing himself for yet another battle. He didn't have much to spare, but he pushed a little of his remaining energy into each of his remaining companions.

Too much, apparently, for he crashed to his knees with a silent gasp of pain. The three warriors spared him a backwards glance, a wordless thank you as they dashed forward. They could not go back to help him, not with danger so imminent. They could only hope. Hope that they could keep fighting long enough for the others to find safety.

But what little he gave them did not last long.

"There's no end to them!" Carver cried, backing up so that his back hit his cousin's. Another thud told him Aveline had joined their little cluster. The darkspawn hissed fiercely, slowly pressing the group back.

A roar stopped both the darkspawn and the three warriors dead in their tracks. From the crest behind where Leandra and Wesley had taken refuge came a dragon, large as only the oldest could become, teeth like daggers and claws like scythes. It uncurled itself like a cat from it's nap before taking to the air. It bathed the darkspawn forces in fire, being sure to finish the bulk of them off before landing and…

Transforming into an older woman in dragon-skin-and-crow-feather mage's robes and with white hair in a style reminiscent to dragon's horns. The steel, spiked headpiece she wore flashed in the light of the dying sun. She dragged a darkspawn corpse beside her for a ways before tossing off the the side, setting it aflame, and approaching Amell and Carver. A soft, startled cry had brought Aveline to her husband's side; the man was writhing on the ground in pain.

Amell stepped towards the witch, keeping an arm out to shield Carver behind him.

"Well, well. What have we here?" The witch wondered. "It use to be we never got visitors to the Wilds. But now, it seems they arrive in hordes!" She lifted her hands to the sky and waved them about, smirking as if it were all a great joke.

Amell watched the old woman warily, but kept his voice cool and calm, not hostile.

"Impressive. Where'd you learn to turn into a dragon?" He asked, partially joking, but partially serious.

The witch shrugged. "Perhaps I _am_ a dragon," she said mysteriously. In a more matter-of-fact tone, she said, "If so, count yourself lucky. The smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite. If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know that you are heading in the wrong direction."

And with that, the witch began to walk away.

Carver pushed past Amell.

"So you're just going to leave us here?!"

The witch slowed to a stop and looked back at the two men over her shoulder.

"And why not?" She asked. "I spotted a most curious sight; a mighty ogre, vanquished! Who could perform such a feat?" She tipped her head to the side, bronze eyes flashing with fire. "But now my curiosity is sated and you are safe. For the moment. Is that not enough?"

Amell felt a hand on his shoulder and turned briefly to see Hawke standing- well, more like slouching- beside him.

"You could show me that trick of yours," Hawke quipped playfully, steadying himself against his cousin's shoulder. "That looks useful."

Amell shook his head disapprovingly. "Don't mind my cousin. I apologize, but we will not be able to get past the Wilds on our own."

The witch laughed, addressing Hawke. "I dare say it is! Such a clever child for a mage!" She turned towards Amell. "Tell me, how do you intend to outrun the Blight?"

"We're trying to get to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches," Amell explained.

"Kirkwall? My, well, that is quite the voyage you plan. So far, simply to flee the darkspawn."

Hawke snorted. "Any better suggestions? I hear the Deep Roads are vacant at the moment."

The witch laughed again. "Oh, you I like." Her face became more serious and strangely ominous. "Hurtled into chaos, you fight, and the world will shake before you."

Amell and Hawke shot each other a confused look, but did not ask the meaning behind her prolific words. They watched her turn her back and contemplate.

"Is it fate, or chance? I can never decide," she whispered. Her head dropped, then she turned back towards the group. "It appears fate smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet."

Amell looked to Hawke and Carver for advice.

"There must be a catch," Amell said.

"There is always a catch," the witch said with a chuckle. "Life is a catch. I suggest you catch it while you can."

"Can we even trust her?" Carver asked. "We don't even know what she is."

"I know what she is. The Witch of the Wilds," Aveline called from her husband's side.

"Some call me that," the witch admitted. "Also: Flemeth, Asha'bellanar, the old hag who talks too much." Flemeth chuckled, shaking her head. "Does it matter? I offer you this; I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you do this for a Witch of the Wilds?"

"Should we trust her?" Hawke asked Amell, moving his lips the barest minimum to speak.

"I don't see how we have another choice," Amell replied in kind. "Wesley is injured and your mother is tired. There's no way we can get past the horde on our own."

"Roast a few more darkspawn and I'll do anything you want," Hawke said.

"Sadly, my charity is at its end," Flemeth said. "There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall. Deliver this amulet to their Keeper, Marethari." She handed over an intricate ebony amulet. Hawke could feel the magic beneath the surface, and it made him uneasy. "Do as she asks with is, and any debt between us is paid in full."

Flemeth frowned and stepped past the trio, towards Aveline and a now very grey-skinned, very sick Wesley. "Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter."

Aveline hunched over her husband protectively. "No! Leave him alone!"

"What has been done to your man is within his blood already," Flemeth said sadly.

"You lie!" Aveline shouted.

"She's right, Aveline," Wesley manages out haltingly. "I can feel the corruption inside of me."

"There must be a way to help him," Amell begged. Flemeth shook her head as she looked down on the couple.

"The only cure I know of is to become a Grey Warden," Flemeth said solemnly.

"And they all died at Ostagar," Aveline whimpered.

"Not all, but the last are now beyond your reach."

"Aveline, listen to me," Wesley whispered brokenly.

"You can't ask me this," Aveline said firmly. "I won't!"

Wesley smiled sadly. "The corruption is a slow death. I can't…"

Aveline placed a hand over her husband's heart, then looked up at Hawke for guidance. Instead of saying anything, he simply removed the blade from his belt and handed it to her.

"He's your husband, Aveline," Amell muttered. "We can't decide his fate."

"Be strong, my love," Wesley whispered. He placed his hands over Aveline's while they both shoved the blade through his heart.

Ser Wesley died with a smile on his face.

"Without death, there can be no peace," Flemeth said as Aveline rose from her knees. "It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun."

…

"Flemeth?" Cassandra asked doubtfully.

"I thought that might interest you," Varric said matter-of-factly.

"You expect me to believe a myth swooped out of the Wilds to save the Champion?" The Seeker's voice was exasperated.

Varric smirked. "Oh come now, Seeker. Do I need to recite the tale of the Warden as well?"

"No," Cassandra said quickly. "Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised to hear of her involvement."

Varric shrugged, mumbling, "I liked my version better too."

Cassandra shook her head. "What else aren't you telling me, then?" She demanded. "Did she send someone with the Champion?"

"In a manner of speaking," Varric diverted.

"So it's true. Continue. But if you tell me that they all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon-"

"Nothing so fanciful, I assure you.

The witch kept her word and got them to Gwaren, where they took ship. They sailed north across the Waking Sea, lashed by terrible storms. Two weeks they spent in that dark hold, packed in with the fearful and the desperate.

And then they saw it: Kirkwall, the City of Chains. Long ago it was part of the Tevinter Imperium, slaves coming from far and wide to work the quarries. Now, it's a free city.

But I use the word loosely. Sail through those black cliffs and you'll see what the slaves of old saw: the Gallows, welcoming you. That's where their ship landed, with all the rest…"


	2. Act 1: Scene 2

**Word Count: 5,183**

**Warnings: Canon Divergence (Though not for a while. Kinda.), Canon-typical violence, mentions of attempted assault. **

* * *

**Act I: Scene II- Start From the Bottom**

"_The witch kept her word and got them to Gwaren, where they took ship. They sailed north across the Waking Sea, lashed by terrible storms. Two weeks they spent in that dark hold, packed in with the fearful and the desperate. _

_And then they saw it: Kirkwall, the City of Chains. Long ago it was part of the Tevinter Imperium, slaves coming from far and wide to work the quarries. Now, it's a free city._

_But I use the word loosely. Sail through those black cliffs and you'll see what the slaves of old saw: the Gallows, welcoming you. That's where their ship landed, with all the rest…"_

Hawke woke to Amell shaking his shoulder gently. His lower back ached; the wooden floors of the shoddy ship they were on were kind to no one. He doubted anyone was doing much better.

"We just passed the black cliffs," Marcus explained, straightening. He didn't look to be in any discomfort, but he did look a bit… stiff. "We'll reach the Gallows soon. We should wake everyone and get on deck."

Garrett nodded as he slowly stood, flowing healing magic through the hands he slowly trailed down his back. It was times like this he was especially thankful for his Creation magics; without them, he'd likely be a very cranky mage the rest of the day. His companions stirred around him, all in various forms of discontent, ranging from slightly irritated to "why in all heavens did we ever think this was a good idea?"

They stumbled off the ship together. Around them, refugees with people awaiting their arrival rushed into their arms, while those without anyone to look forward to kept their eyes to the ground as they shuffled towards the city.

"They're not letting anyone into the city," Aveline remarked, nodding towards the steadily growing crowd at the first gate.

"So long as we're all together and safe," Amell mumbled as he began pushing his way through the crowd to who appeared to be the guard captain.

"Get back to the crowd, you lot!" The man ordered as Amell and the group approached. "Trying to bully your way through won't get you into Kirkwall any faster."

"But you do intend to let us in?" Aveline asked, perhaps more aggressively than entirely necessary.

The Guard laughed grimly. "We have enough poor of our own in the Free Marches. We don't need you refugees piling up here like a midden's heap."

"There must be someone in charge that I can speak with," Amell said, raising a hand to calm Aveline. The guard sighed.

"Yes, yes, always the same story. You want in? Talk to Captain Yuld. I'm just here to keep you refuse from climbing the walls."

Amell shook his head as he led the party past the guard. Most of the gates were closed, the black metal as intimidating as it was comforting. There was no darkspawn here.

Behind him, he could hear Aveline and Carver talking in hushed whispers.

"Tell me, how did you escape lothering?" Aveline asked. "Almost everyone who hadn't fled…"

Carver responded quickly. "My brother. If he wasn't with us, I don't think we'd be here."

"But you seem quite skilled as well," Aveline said doubtfully. Carver looked pained.

"I'm not my brother."

Amell watched Hawke look at Carver fondly for a moment, but the younger did not seem to notice.

From ahead came sounds of shouting from a group of men in Ferelden soldier armor. Deserters, running to Kirkwall to avoid their responsibilities.

"Let us through you flaming blighter!" One of them- the leader- yelled. "We're not staying in this pit!"

The man in the armor of the Kirkwall guard that stood before them sighed. _He must be the Captain_, Amell thought.

"Then get back on your ship and leave," Captain Yuld commanded. "Kirkwall has no more room for refugees."

"The ship's already gone. We paid good coin to get here!" Another deserter, this one with long cornsilk-blonde hair.

"You and half of Ferelden," the captain mumbled. Louder, he said, "There's nothing I can do. The city is full."

"It's a big city. Surely there's a bit of extra room for the pretty people?" Hawke joked. The captain gave him a bored look.

"I find keeping my neck away from Knight-Commander Meredith's blade far more attractive than any of you." He gestured broadly across both groups. "We've been letting you Fereldens in for months. You're too late. There's no more room."

"But we have family here!" Caver objected.

"I've heard claims like that a thousand times already. Trust me," Captain Yuld said. "We'll find some ships to take you all back to Ferelden eventually. Until then, you stay here."

"If you find our Uncle, Gamlen Amell, you might just have a few less refugees bothering you," Amell suggested sweetly. The captain's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Gamlen. I know that name."

Carver spoke up excitedly. "He's a nobleman here in the city. Our family has an estate!"

"Nobleman?" Captain Yuld scoffed. "The only Gamlen I know is a weasel who couldn't rub two coppers together. If he comes back, I'll bring you to him. But I don't have time to-"

The deserter leader cut the guard captain off in outrage. "What?! You're gonna let them through?!"

"I didn't say anything about-"

The blonde one took a step forward. "We've been here for four days! They just got here!"

The leader drew his sword before anyone could say any more. "That's it! We're carving our way out of here! Men!"

The slither of steel against its sheathe sent Hawke reaching for his staff, but Amell pushed him back against the stone wall.

"Not here," the white-haired warrior insisted, readying his own blade in defense.

It became clear why the deserters had left; they were not good warriors. Their strikes missed more often than not. Those that did hit barely had the power a well-trained fighter could truly put behind his weapon. It almost made Amell laugh. But he didn't. Because these were lives he was taking. He could hear Carver and Aveline fighting beside him, guards and more deserters pouring in from up the stairs, and Hawke shouting warnings from where he and Leandra stood at the top of the stairs.

When it was done, he felt sick. The blood was sticky, thicker than water, but lighter than the viscous blood of the darkspawn he had fought. The differences were glaring. And they made him sick.

"Unbelievable," The captain drawled, staring at the bodies lying around him. Another guard ran up from the stairs. Amell recognized him- the guard from the docks.

"Captain! Are you alright?" The man shouted, slowing to a stop. The captain shook his head in disapproval.

"I am no thanks to you. Where is everyone? Go find them. I want this under control." He turned to Amell and the Hawkes. "You have my thanks. Look, I can't get you into the city. It's not my decision. But I'll find your uncle and bring him here."

Amell nodded as the captain pulled another guard aside and started giving him orders. The group shuffled up the stairs and plopped down. They were tired. They were worn…

But they'd made it. At least they hoped.

…

Aveline paced in aggravation.

"It's been three days," she griped. "This waiting has to end."

"I'm sure it won't be much longer," Leandra assured. "Gamlen must still be looking for us."

"And if he's not?" Aveline questioned. Hawke cut in, pushing off the wall he was leaning against.

"Don't look now, but I think that's our man."

And older looking man descended the stairs towards the group, his shoulder-length grey hair pulled back and his clothes patches.

"Leandra!" He exclaimed. "Damn, girl. The years have not been kind to you!"

"Gamlen!"

Leandra rushed forward to hug her brother. He looked startled as he tentatively hugged back.

"Eh- Let me say out front, I wasn't expecting this. The Blight, your husband dead. I- eh- figured you'd pretty much be Ferelden for life!" Gamlen said.

"Oh, Gamlen. We came too late!" Leandra lamented. "My darling Bethany didn't make it, Andraste guide her…"

Gamlen sighed and put his face in his hands. "Oh, Maker save me. Leandra, don't drop this on me here. I don't even know If I can help you get in!"

Hawke stepped forward.

"What about Mother?" He asked. "Can you at least help her?"

"No!" Leandra snarled. "We get through this together!"

Gamlen shook his head.

"I was hoping to grease some palms," he explained, "but the Knight-Commander's been cracking down. You're gonna need more grease."

"But… What about the estate?" Leandra asked. "Surely Father left something when he died!"

"Right. Eh- about the estate. It's- erm- gone. To settle a debt. I've been meaning to write you!" Gamlen rushed the last part, and Amell and Hawke exchanged a wary look.

Leandra looked downtrodden. "Then there's no hope…"

"Not quite!" Gamlen said quickly. "I know some people who might help! If you're not too delicate about the company you keep."

"Just spit it out already!" Carver exclaimed.

"I talked to my contacts, and I found some people who might be able to pay your way into the city. The catch is, you and your brother- and you too, Marcus, sorry- will have to work off the debt. For a year."

"A year?!" Leandra cried.

"It's the best I could do!" Gamlen tried. "Trust me when I say a bunch of refugees won't get a better option anywhere else!"

"It's only a year," Hawke said optimistically. "I'm sure we'll be free and clear before we know it!" He attempted to sound cheerful, but Amell could hear the strain beneath the happy tone.

Gamlen sighed, but continued talking.

"I managed to convince my contacts to come to the Gallows to meet you personally. Meeran heads up the mercenary company- the Red Iron. They're looking for recruits. Athenril… I guess you might call her a smuggler. Either one of them can help you. All you need to do is find them in the courtyard and convince them you're worth the trouble."

Amell looked… well, sneaky, almost.

"How dangerous is this smuggler's work?" He wondered.

"Well, it won't be pretty working for her," Gamlen said. "She's a pretty small fish compared to some of the other thieves' guilds around here. But she's tough, she's fair, and she never deals in slaves or flesh."

"Then what kind of man is this 'Meeran'?" Hawke inquired.

"He's a hired sword. What do you expect him to be like?" Gamlen snarked. "I wouldn't bring him home for dinner or anything, but he's got a decent reputation. I wouldn't have asked him if I thought he'd cross you."

Hawke gave his uncle a critical look but said nothing as he turned to his brother. "What do you think about this Carver?"

"What can I say? Better here than nowhere," Carver said. Hawke nodded, the scuffled his little brother's hair.

"Carver and I will go talk to Meeran," Hawke announced.

"Oh, Gamlen. I don't know about this," Leandra voiced, concerned and wary.

"It's a lot of coin, Leandra," Gamlen said, as though it explained everything away. "Don't go expecting our name to carry the kind of weight it use to."

Aveline stepped forward.

"And what of me? I will not allow others to incur debts on my behalf."

Gamlen gave her a once-over and sneered. "I can't see that it makes a difference. You look like a lady who could pull her own weight."

Leandra smiled. "Then you'll come with us."

"I… Have no real option," Aveline admitted. "Thank you."

Amell tugged her arm. "You can come with me to go see this 'Athenril'," he said. Aveline nodded as she followed him towards the merchant stalls, a likely place to find a smuggler and a thief. The Hawke brothers went to the other side of the courtyard to seek out Meeran.

Amell and Aveline found the Athenril and her group of men in a back alley.

"Are you Athenril?" Amell asked, walking up to the elvish woman. Aveline followed close behind.

"You must be Gamlen's nephew," Athenril noted, turning towards him. "Interesting. I don't know what he told you about us, but he certainly told us a great deal about you."

Amell chuckled darkly. "I'm afraid Gamlen was talking about Hawke. But I can assure you, I hardly need his… abilities… to be able to do the same work. If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to know more about what we'll be doing for you." Athenril hummed in understanding.

"I can be honest," she began. "We don't compete with the other thieves' guilds, but we keep our fingers in a lot of pots. That said, we're not killers or slavers. Anything short of that, however, is fair game."

"This sounds fishy to me," Aveline whispered. Amell nodded, but stepped forward.

"Tell me what you need done."

Athenril took a quick look around before gesturing Amell even closer.

"There's a merchant named Cavril. Friend of the Templars, so they let him set up his little shop here in the Gallows. We supplied him in return for a piece of the take, but now he won't pay up. We can't go near him without him screaming for the guard- but you can. Get our money from him, and you're in."

Amell nodded, then stepped away without another word nor glance backwards.

He and Aveline found Cavril "bartering" with a young woman.

"I've already told you, I can't give you anything more for them," Cavril said evenly, backing away from the woman.

"But that's all we have! It's all we brought with us!" She exclaimed.

"And I feel for you, serah, but it's the best I can do." Carvil turned and stood beside his guard. The woman refused to take it.

"If they just let us into the city, I could get three times that price."

Cavril sighed, shaking his head.

"Miren."

The guard stepped forward, towering over the woman.

"Your business is done," he said. The woman began to argue, but stopped herself. With a sigh, she turned and walked away.

Amell stepped right past them and kneeled down to examine the chest that held all of Cavril's profits.

"Hey there! What do you think you're doing with that?!" Cavril exclaimed.

"Back away from it, friend. Now," the merchant's guard threatened. Amell stood and went to Aveline's side.

"Wait. This is Athenril's doing isn't it?" Cavril demanded. "You can go tell that bitch i'm going straight to the guard again!"

Amell tipped his head toward Aveline and jerked his thumb at the enraged merchant.

"Care to step in here?" He murmured.

"Only because this toad deserves it," Aveline said, approaching Cavril. She drew her dagger from her belt and, in a smooth, quick movement, pressed it up against the merchant's neck before either he or his guard could react.

"You have a choice: pay up, or I beat it out of you and your men," she threatened. The guard stepped forward, but Carvil stepped in hurriedly.

"Stay back! Just… Take what's in the chest! Take it all!" Aveline nodded with a smile, then stepped past him to retrieve the debt.

"Now I'm getting out of here," Carvil announced. "Let those guards find someone else to buy dog-land junk!"

Amell and Aveline held their serious demeanor as they watched the merchant walk away before they burst out laughing.

"Oh, that felt good," Aveline admitted, shaking her head as she collected the last of the coin in a purse and tossed it to Amell. The white-haired warrior gave her a rare, truly evil smirk.

"Let's get back to Athenril and giver her the good news, shall we?"

Athenril stood from a crouch as Amell and Aveline approached.

"Here you go, as requested," Amell chirped, handing over the money. Athenril almost smiled.

"Will you look at that," she said, counting out the coin. "Tell your uncle we'll make the arrangements. Welcome aboard."

As Athenril and her group disappeared into Kirkwall Amell and Aveline headed back to Gamlen and Leandra. Garrett and Carver were already there.

Garrett Hawke tossed him a small bag of coins with a smirk. Amell gasped when he opened it to find five sovereigns and some spare silvers and coppers tucked inside.

"Meeran didn't ask, and I didn't tell," Hawke said slyly. Amell smiled and nodded before turning to Gamlen and Leandra.

"Athenril also has agreed to help us," he said.

"I'll speak to them both and see when bribes can be made," Gamlen assured. "Wait here."

Amell and the group turned towards Kirkwall, faces filled with relief, sorrow, and apprehension.

"I guess we did it," Carver said. "We're here to stay. At least for a little while." Amell nodded.

"The Blight may still spread, but for now we have a new home."

"No more running for our lives unless we _really_ have to, okay?" Hawke joked grimmly.

Leandra looked crestfallen.

"If only Bethany were here with us," she whispered.

"And Wesley," Aveline added, just as doleful.

"Let's just see what happens," Amell said, lips pressed into a fine line and sorrow lurking behind silver eyes.

"We have a long year ahead of us."

...

Amell was nodding off when he heard the door click open and the soft thud of Hawke's boots.

"You're up late," his cousin whispered. There was a strained edge to his voice and his eyes were slightly fogged. Something's happened.

"You're _home_ late," Marcus shot back tiredly, struggling to sit up properly. He hated saying that word- home. It really didn't fit the worn-down shack Gamlen shared with them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked knowingly, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table.

Hawke opened his mouth as if to say something, but shut it quickly as he decided otherwise. Instead, he plopped in the chair across the little table from Amell and rested his head on his arms on the table. His shoulders were stiff, tense, as if reflecting his mood.

"Do we still have any of that wine left?" He asked, voice muffled. Amell huffed in amusement,- of course Hawke needed a drink- but got up to retrieve the bottle (or two. Or three…) of red that he'd hidden under a floorboard to keep away from Gamlen.

After a few drinks, (and if it was more than a few, Marcus would deny it to the grave) Hawke finally spilled what was troubling him.

"One of the boys got handsy today," he said without a slur. And while Amell would normally envy his cousin's ability to remain perfectly understandable even when drunk, he was more focused on what was being said.

"Just… How handsy?" He asked carefully.

"Too handsy. And I just… I just froze up. I couldn't reach my staff and I didn't want to use magic on him, it would have killed him and... If Meeran hadn't been there, he would have- he would have-" Hawke cut himself off, gasping for breath as panic overtook him. Amell stood and moved so that he could rest a hand on his cousin's shoulder.

"I was scared," Hawke admitted. Hawke nodded, squeezing his still-armoured shoulder- thank goodness Meeran required Hawke to wear armor, the mage would never do so otherwise- gently. He reached to where he normally kept his dagger and unhooked the new one he'd bought earlier that day.

"Here," he said, handing the small black and red blade to Hawke. "So that next time, you can just jab him in the balls, right?" He said jokingly. Hawke looked up at him and half-smiled before he twisted around to give Amell an awkward hug.

"Thank you," he whispered. Amell didn't reply, but simply smiled and hugged back.

…

Varric sighed. That was a particularly hard part of the story to tell, and there were a lot of hard parts in the story. But he had to tell it. There was no really happy way to put what had almost happened to the poor boy.

And he had to keep telling.

"Thus began the Champion's first year in Kirkwall.

Word arrived from across the sea that the Hero of Ferelden had defeated the Blight. But Lothering was destroyed; Kirkwall was the Champion's home now.

So, he remained, working off his debt with the mercenaries while Amell did the same with the smugglers. He made a name for himself in both the common-folk and the underworld.

It was a busy year in the city. That's when the Qunari landed. A great storm had caught their ship and left hundreds of warriors stranded in the city, waiting to return home.

That's… also when the trouble began with the mages. The Templars had become very powerful under Knight-Commander Meredith.

But, most importantly, that's when I first met the Champion…"

...

Hawke and Carver hurried to follow Bertrand closely. For someone so small, he sure did move quickly.

"No!" Bartrand exclaimed, exasperated. "Andraste's tits, human! You know how many people want to hire onto this expedition?!"

"Look," Carver insisted, "we know you're going into the Deep Roads. You'll need to hire the best, and we're-"

"No! You're too late. Already done."

"The money from this trip could fix everything. You need us. We've fought darkspawn."

"Look precious, I don't care if you tore the horns off an ogre with your bare hands."

Carver turned to Hawke, aggravated.

"You make him understand. We're running from _your_ bloody Templars."

Hawke gave his brother a long disapproving look before turning to the dwarf.

"My brother has a point," he admitted. "It's on his head, but it's still valid."

"Oh, thanks for that," Carver mumbled.

Hawke ignored his brother's griping.

"So, what about it, Bartrand?" He asked. "We're just what you need." The dwarf just sighed and shook his head.

"You're looking for a quick way out of the slums, right? You and every other Ferelden in this dump. Find another meal ticket."

Hawke and Carver watched Bartrand walk away before turning and heading back towards the steps to Lowtown.

"Well, back to waiting for someone to turn us in," Carver said grimly.

"You can relax. After all, the Templars dogging us are _mine_," Hawke mocked, stopping and turning on his brother.

"Did I sound that bad? Maker, I'm turning into Gamlen!" Carver exclaimed, then paused. "Gamlen… He's got a head for this garbage! Maybe he can talk to Bartrand. He knows some people. After last week we need all the coin and influence we can get."

"You'd catch more flies with honey, but Gamlen's bullshit could work too," Hawke joked sourly. Carver sighed as they both turned to continue walking.

"Well, he did get us into the city, right? What else can we do? We're losing ground, and I don't fancy waking up in the Gallows."

Hawke let out a huff when a short, distinctly red-headed kid knocked into him. He shook his head as he watched the kid dash off towards the market, hand moving instinctively to check his coin purse.

He whirled quickly with a shout when he realized it wasn't there.

The kid was only halfway down the street when Hawke heard the familiar _twang_ and _buzz_ of a crossbow firing and a bolt pinned the thief to the stone wall.

A dwarf stepped threateningly towards the pinned human, sheathing his crossbow.

"I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you," the dwarf said. "But you? You don't have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchant's Guild." He held out his hand for the stolen purse, which was dropped into it without hesitation.

"Might wanna find yourself a… new line of work," he suggested, punching the thief in the face and ripping the bolt out of the kid's shoulder. He smiled thinly as the kid scrambled to his feet. "Off you go."

The dwarf approached Hawke and Carver, smirking, bouncing the measly purse in his hand.

"How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service. I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw." He tossed the purse to Hawke, who caught it easily.

"And you would?"

Varric turned and nodded to Amell while the white-haired warrior pushed off the wall he was resting against.

"I would!" Varric proclaimed. "What my brother doesn't realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it either; he's too proud. I, however, am quite practical."

"You're going awfully far out of your way just to hire another guard," Hawke pointed out. Varric nodded.

"We don't need another hireling; we need a partner," he explained. "The truth is, Bartrand's been tearing his beard out trying to fund this on his own, but he can't do it. Invest in the expedition. 50 sovereigns and he can't refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you."

"I hope there's more to this. Like how we're suppose to get that much coin together," Amell said wryly. "We wouldn't be doing this if we had that much coin."

"You need to think big!" Varric exclaimed. "There's only a brief window after a Blight where the Deep Roads won't be crawling with darkspawn. The treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life!"

Carver stepped in.

"C'mon! The dwarf makes some sense- no offense. Look, you started this, and it's a good idea. Certainly better than ending up in the Gallows."

"We work together, you and I, and before you know it, you'll have all the capital you need. What do you say?" Varric asked, smirking. Hawke sighed.

"It's not like I had anything better planned."

"Perfect!" Varric cheered. "Kirkwall's crawling with work. You set aside some coin from every job any you'll have the money in no time at all."

"Sure. Easy," Carver said sarcastically. "But… Maybe Aveline's got some bounties out! She joined the City Guard, right?" Amell nodded in confirmation, joining his two cousins.

"We should talk privately when you get the chance," Varric suggested. "In the Hanged Man, maybe. I'll be there when I'm not with you. Now, let's go see what trouble we can stir up."

Amell lead the group into the hightown markets. It was a bright, cloudless, sunny day for once- Kirkwall, being on the coast, didn't get many of those. He chatted up the vendors, keeping in mind his meager coin. Five sovereigns really did go very far, but there was a set of robes that Hawke might like to have and a pair of gauntlets that Amell saw that he liked. He kept a close hand on his coin, though, Varric's words running through his head.

"_Keep a hand on your coin, Amell. There are more cutpurses in Hightown than in the rest of the city combined."_

He could hear the dwarf and Carver talking behind him. Hawke came up beside him to give them some privacy.

"You know, Junior," Varric said, "it's eerie how much of a resemblance there is between you two."

"We're brothers," Carver said, offended. "What's eerie about that."

"Ooh, you thought I meant Hawke! I was talking about Gamlen."

"Maker, I hate you dwarf."

Amell chuckled and shook his head as he turned his focus back to the merchants. He brightened a bit when he recognized a familiar face and headed that way.

"Worthy!" He called. "If it isn't the dwarf with the incredibly ironic name!"

"Ah, long time no see, my friend," he said. "You know I only ever advertise the truth! You aren't still working for Athenril are you? Or that mercenary, Meeran? Your year must be up by now."

"I'm looking to become an explorer of sorts," Amell admitted, glancing over the runes and crafting materials as he spoke. There were a few useful ones. Nothing he had money for, but...

"Dangerous work, that. Watch out for Bartrand; he can be a bit… Hard to deal with."

"That's putting it lightly," Varric pointed out.

"I'll tell you what," Worthy began, "I'll see if I can't drum up some of my old contacts. You need some runecrafting done? I can arrange it for you. Take care, Amell. Don't get dead."

Amell smiled and nodded as he accepted the tracing Worthy handed to him. Rune of Protection. Well… He'd need it sometime, probably.

Amell smiled as he continued to scan the market. He did end up buying that set of robes- Hawke looked like a kid at a candy shop when he saw the purchase, though he did whine a bit about the price. Only a bit.

He was almost finished and ready to head towards the Keep when a bit of reflected light caught his eye. Those were… Ferelden goods. He'd seen them among the Lowtown refugees not a week earlier, hadn't he?

The merchant seemed to take offense at his browsing.

"Another Ferelden street-rat? Are you here to waste my time? Or do you actually have coin to spend?"

"Actually, my coin and I were just leaving," Hawke sassed cheerfully from just behind Amell.

"Eh, I'm having a bad week," the merchant said, apologizing without saying so. Amell gave him a doubtful look. "There are Fereldens of means in Kirkwall. Forgive me."

Amell smiled thinly and nodded.

"Are you an armorer?" Amell asked. "A weapons smith? Or perhaps a trinket-monger? I really can't tell from just browsing your wares."

"My stock is varied. What all my wares have in common, however, is quality. Only the best for my distinguished patrons. See for yourself."

Amell's lips pressed into a thin line as he browsed the merchant's wares. Yes, these definitely once belonged to some of the other refugees. And judging by his expression, Hawke seemed to notice as well- his eyes were tight at the corners, his lips tugging down into a frown. Amell gave his cousin a patronizing look and shook his head. _Not here_. At the moment, it wouldn't be good for them to cause any kind of trouble, especially not in Hightown.

The clanking of passing Templars seemed to reaffirm Amell's concerns.

"Can we go now?" Hawke asked, confident, but with a nervous undertone. "I'm certain we're done here."

Amell nodded. He bought a small ring for a couple coppers before giving the strangely-accented merchant a smile and walking towards the Keep.

"You can't miss the Keep," Varric said as they climbed the stairs to the Viscount's Keep. "It practically screams, 'Nothing fun ever happens here!'"

Amell chuckled. That was… kind of true, though. He pushed past the heavy doors, grimacing at the very poor decore job of the front room. Who even found teal and red appealing together?

"Talk about poor fashion sense," Hawke murmured, voicing Amell's thoughts. Carver let out a very undignified snort.

They all sobered up when they stepped into the Guard's Quarters. Aveline stood in front of the rosters, serious expression on her face, and Amell and the group made a beeline for her.


	3. Act 1: Scene 3

**Word count: 5,102**

**Warnings: Canon Divergence (to a point), Canon-Typical violence.**

* * *

**Act I: Scene III- Truth and Lies, High and Low**

_They all sobered up when they stepped into the Guard's Quarters. Aveline stood in front of the rosters, serious expression on her face, and Amell and the group made a beeline for her._

"Aveline!" Hawke called as they approached the guardswoman. She gave a grunt and a, "Hello, Hawke." in return.

"Long time, no speak, huh?" Hawke tried again. Aveline finally turned around.

"What? Oh right! Sorry. It feels like we just spoke. I've been keeping an eye on you. Information is one of the few perks of this job. Watch out for Bartrand; he's a son of a bitch."

Varric choked on a laugh, and Amell gave the dwarf a concerned look.

"You know I don't like it when you have people watch me," Hawke whined, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

"Saved me camping on your doorstep," Aveline shot back. She sobered a bit. "After what we went through to get here, I- Well, you're no child, but I take care of my friends. The places they have me patrolling? I've got time." Hawke smiled and nodded.

"So… A person in your position. Seems like they might learn some… _profitable_... things."

"You know better than to ask that," Aveline scolded lightly. Hawke half-smiled.

"One day, you'll be frustrated enough to go for it," he teased.

"It's like I'm sitting on my hands," Aveline grumbled. "There are dangerous people in this city. In fact, I might have a job for you. Let me know if you want to do a favor for Kirkwall. Otherwise, I'm here if you need me. Maker knows I could use more satisfying work."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Alright, Aveline. You have something worth doing?"

"My patrols may be empty walks in the dark, but there's something big coming up," Aveline explained. "And I could use you. An ambush, probably for a caravan, although I can't find any shipments that match up. Doesn't matter though. Highwaymen waiting for someone to rob? I'm putting a stop to it, my district or not."

"Alright, Aveline. I'll play guard for you," Hawke said, partially teasing.

"I knew I could count on you," Aveline said with a smile. She became more serious as she continued. "They're hidden up Sundermount. Remote and rough. But we can make good time with a short-cut this side. And no, you can't run off and do it without me. I trust you, but I have to be there. You're acting on behalf of the Guard."

Hawke huffed unhappily as he turned on his heel and started for the door. He heard Marcus fall in beside him and the rest fall in behind, the metallic _clink_ of Aveline's greaves joining the soft _tap_ of Carver's and Varric's boots. It was a comforting sound, reminding him she had his back.

The group descended the Keep stairs quickly, cutting through the Red-Light District to avoid the Merchants' Guild and Hightown Market entirely.

The bustle of the Lowtown Bazaar greeted them as they came down the stone stairs.

"The Merchant's Guild has their fingers in all these pies," Varric commented, looking around as Amell rushed off to chat up a lady; Elegant, if Hawke remembered correctly.

"Well, not the actual pies," Varric amended quickly as they passed a food stand. "They're clean, as far as I know." Hawke chuckled and shook his head, pausing in front of the weapons-seller. There wasn't much. Odd. Normally it was very well stocked.

"Problem supplying this week?" Hawke asked, flipping over a greatsword to examine the blade. No chips or nicks, but the metal did seem a little on the soft side…

"No, not really, Serah," the dwarf assured, moving a bit closer so that their conversation could remain as private as possible on the busy street. "Sharps' brats came by the moment I opened this morning, bought up as much as their coin could afford. Heard one talk about an excess of new recruits. Might want to watch your back at night."

Hawke nodded, paying for the sword and tossing in an extra silver or three for the information. He handed the sword off to Carver before turning and beginning to head further into Lowtown. Amell jogged up to the group just as they approached the Hanged Man.

"Free drinks for the Guard," Aveline informed wryly. "Accept, and wake up in a back alley." Varric huffed, almost offended.

"My favorite spot in the whole city! All the taverns in Hightown are owned by the Merchants' Guild," Varric proclaimed.

Aveline muttered something that sounded like, "I stand corrected." Hawke shook his head, pushed the door open, and stepped into the hive of scum and villainy.

The Hanged Man smelled of piss, vomit, and- vaguely- stale ale. Hardly a pleasant smell, but nothing Amell wasn't at least somewhat use to. Summers in Lowtown slums, he'd learned, _really_ did not smell much better. He was even starting to miss the smell of dog-shit that was so common in Ferelden. At least the source of that was identifiable, to some extent.

Nonetheless, Amell followed Varric closely up the stairs, everyone else not far behind. Now Amell was really grateful for Aveline's intimidating presence; a number of the other patrons were giving him and Hawke... unsavory... looks, but the sight of a Guard close at hand seemed to deter them. For the moment.

Amell let out the lightest sigh of relief when they entered Varric's private room. He could hear Hawke do the same.

So, here's the thing," Varric began, gesturing for the rest of them to sit as he paced the head of the table closest to the fire. Everyone but Hawke did so, the Ferelden mage choosing to instead lean against the wall behind his cousin. "We need to find a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we're down there, but we need a good entrance."

"Any entrance would do, wouldn't it? Unless a dragon's sitting in it, I suppose," Hawke said. Amell wasn't entirely certain if he was fucking around or actually serious. The former was a good choice, but… With Hawke, you could never truly tell.

Varric leaned over the table, examining the map there. "We need an entrance that's close to our entrance, but isn't already plundered or filled with darkspawn," he explained. "Fortunately, I've received some new information; there's a Grey Warden in the city. If anyone knows how to get down there, it'll be him." Amell peered over the map with the dwarf. On it was marked the usual checkpoints of any Kirkwall map- the various parts of the city, Sundermount, the Wounded Coast- but there were also a number of tiny marks and shorthand labels marking places Varric seemed to deem important- an abandoned ruin up the side of Sundermount, a mine called the Bone Pit, a number of known entrances to the Deep Roads he had apparently ruled out...

"Why would a Grey Warden know that?" Carver asked.

"The Warden's don't just fight the darkspawn; they forge into the Deep Roads all the time," Varric said. "And if he doesn't know, he might be able to point us to those who do."

"Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric," Hawke jested with a flash of a smile.

Varric smirked and bowed as he said, "And that, Messere, is why I'm here." He straightened up, a bit more serious. "Supposedly, this Grey Warden came in with some other Ferelden refugees not long ago. A Lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the Fereldens. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is.

I'll keep after my contacts- see if I can drum up any other work."

Hawke nodded and relaxed against the wall as the group fell silent, nursing their respective drinks that Varric had so kindly bought for them (Amell had absolutely no doubt he was going to end up paying the dwarf back for those someday, in one way or another). Eventually, the group grew bored or tired and began to disperse.

"We're going up Sundermount today next week, Aveline," Amell reminded the warrior. "We'll deal with your problem, then the task the Witch set for us." He was careful not to mention the name Flemeth. The walls had ears; in that fact, there was no uncertainty. "Watch your back walking home."

Aveline nodded before turning and heading down the stairs and out of the tavern. Amell hoped he didn't make a mistake, not sending someone with her to walk her home.

"She'll be fine," Hawke assured, as if reading his mind. "We should probably be heading back to Gamlen's, though. Mother must be worried by now."

There it was: the avoidance of the word _home_. Amell had noticed his cousin had stopped saying that word about a month after coming to Kirkwall, just as he had started wearing his staff across his back all the time and stopped genuinely smiling. It was a slight personality shift, but one that made Amell slightly nervous…

"Yeah," he agreed, standing and finishing his drink in a single gulp. "Let's go."

...

"Hard to believe they left me nothing," Hawke heard Leandra say as he, Amell, and Carver stepped into the shack.

"Well, Mother was pretty steamed when you ran off with your Ferelden apostate," Gamlen shot back harshly.

"I'm still their daughter!" Leandra protested. "Their eldest! My children have been in servitude- servitude!- for a year. They should be nobility!" Gamlen scoffed.

"If wishes were poppy, we'd all be dreaming."

"You mean this is real?" Hawke finally cut in. "No wonder I can't seem to wake up." Gamlen seemed taken aback be Hawke's jab, almost disgusted.

"And here I thought that Ferelden you ran off with was a mage, not a jester," he muttered darkly. "You're mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet, but instead she ran off with some Ferelden apostate. You don't get to stay the favorite when you do that."

"Where is Father's will?!" Leandra insisten. "If I could just see for myself-" Gamlen cut her off.

"It's not here, alright?!" He snapped. "It was read; it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again!" Hawke cast his brother an amused glance and raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze back towards Gamlen.

"Well that touched a nerve," he sassed. "What's in there that you don't want us to see?"

"Nothing!" Gamlen shouted, before calming slightly. "But you won't be seeing it the bloody thing. It's still in there, locked up in the estate, and that's long out of my hands!"

"What daft bastard leaves that behind?" Carver murmured, shaking his head in disapproval.

"It was old news!" Gamlen scoffed. "You think I've been sitting here for twenty-five years waiting for Leandra to slink back?"

"Who bought the estate, Gamlen?" Leandra demanded. "Perhaps I could speak to them! Was it the Reinharts? "

"No one you know," Gamlen said sharply. "Get use to Lowtown, sister. That's where we're going to stay."

Gamlen and Leandra continued to argue. Hawke tugged on his younger brother's arm, pulling him away.

"Let them argue," Hawke said, glancing between Carver and the quarrelling siblings. "We leave early tomorrow and need rest. We can discuss this in the morning."

Carver nodded, letting his brother and cousin tug him towards where they slept.

They did not sleep easily.

The youngest Hawke was confronting Garrett in whispers first thing in the morning, when Leandra and Gamlen were still sleeping.

"Maker, what a mess," Carver groused. "I want to make things better for Mother, but some of what Gamlen says… I'm having a hard time hating him. Playing caretaker for someone else's life, stuck in their shadow; that's no way to live."

"And there it is," Hawke stated blandly, without even an ounce of his usual sass.

"Look, if you want to join the fight over who lost the most, fine. But I never lived here. Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something!" Carver exclaimed, then drew a quick breath as he realized just how loud he had become. He continued in a more hushed whisper. "But I didn't know grandfather. Finding his will doesn't matter to me."

"But it matters to your mother," Amell pointed out.

"So let's make it matter to you," Hawke said. "You want a connection, this is where we'll find it."

"The once mighty Amells?" Carver scoffed. "A bunch of slavers are squatting in that glory."

"What have you heard?" Amell asked, suspicious.

"Uncle's a chatty drunk. He was up to his neck and signed everything over. That's who has the estate. Apparently, the most extensive wine cellar in Kirkwall is now a slave highway from the Undercity. That's the family legacy." Carver had gravitated towards the fire as he spoke, the flames casting sharp shadows across the planes of his face, illuminating his doubt as efficiently as his voice projected scorn.

"He couldn't have just done everyone a favor and signed over himself as well?" Hawke grumbled, looking over the letters left for him on the desk; a dwarf named Anso needed help with… _something_, a merchant in Hightown needed to talk about a mine called the Bone Pit...

Amell waved off his cousin's protests.

"That sounds like an arrangement that needs to change," he said.

"And what if it does?" Carver asked. "We still aren't important enough to actually live in the place."

"Baby steps, Carver," Hawke chidded. Said youngest Hawke glared, but inevitably caved.

"Alright, Brother. If the key works, we'll clear the estate from the Undercity up." Hawke smiled slyly and Marcus shook his head fondly.

"But first," Marcus said, steering his cousins towards the door, "I believe we have an appointment with a certain Grey Warden."

...

"Here we are," Hawke quipped cheerfully, looking at the over-packed, decrepitated building that was Lirene's Ferelden Imports. "This is the place, right, Varric?"

Varric nodded, and Hawke took that as the cue to lead them into the shop.

It was a lot more packed than it had looked from the outside. There were a number of people jostling around, shouting and bartering and generally being an organized, chaotic mess. Hawke strood through the crowd and right up to the counter.

"Serah, if you're seeking aid, please leave your name with my girl. We serve everyone here- no one came from Ferelden without trouble. But, please give me a moment to finish with this woman," Lirene ordered, effectively dismissing Hawke as she turned to continue her conversation with a clearly distressed woman whose mother (maybe friend?) had just gone into labor. Lirene pointed her in the direction of a (the?) healer in Darktown.

Amell chuckled and shook his head when Hawke let out an indignant little sound. He tapped his cousin's shoulder to get him to step aside, then leaned on the counter with a sly smile.

"Serah Lirene? May I speak with you for a moment?"

The woman turned towards the white-haired man in surprise, letting out a small, confused noise. Amell put on his best dejected look.

"Ah, yes. You see, I'm looking for someone. A Fereldan Grey Warden? I was told you could point me in the right direction." Lirene got that face like she just caught onto Amell's little ruse.

"Ferelden Grey Warden? The only Ferelden Grey Warden I know of is sitting on the throne? What would one be doing here?"

The distressed woman spoke up.

"The Healer was one of 'em one, wasn't he? A Grey Warden?"

"Well, he's not now," Lirene said quickly. "And busy enough without answering fool questions about it."

"I promise, we aren't going to bother him," Amell assured. "My friend here might even be able to help ease the workload a bit." Amell let a reassuring smile spread over his face, gentle and undeniably trusting.

"You see what our people in Kirkwall face?" Lirene asked, gripping the counter tightly. "They have no jobs, no homes. Most can hardly buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds, delivered their children.

He's a good man. I won't lose him to the blighted Templars."

Amell shuffled a bit and Hawke drew a sharp breath. Amell stepped aside as Hawke stood confidently up to the counter.

"Your healer is in no danger from me," Hawke murmured, letting a soft glow cover the tips of his fingers. "No mage should suffer from an accident of birth." Lirene looked down at the light for a moment, then met the mage's eyes with a sigh.

"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep," the woman relented. "Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. Refugees in Darktown know- to find the Healer, look for the lit lantern."

Hawke hated Darktown. It reminded him too much of his days working with Meeran; the other mercenaries and their grubby hands, the stares from the people, ranging from lustful to terrified. He didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary.

Passing through the dingy Darktown Market, Hawke was surprised to see a familiar face.

"Tomwise?"

The small, fidgety elf looked up in startled surprise.

"Hawke? Haven't seen you since that job Meeran hired me for. How are you doing, anyway? Heard you're going on some expedition into the Deep Roads, and right into darkspawn territory. Sure that's wise?" Hawke chuckled at Tomwise's rambling. Good to see he hadn't changed much...

"Well, we can't all make a living in the Undercity."

Tomwise shrugged. "Just watch your back, that's all I'm saying. Say, are you still in the market for some poisons? The Red Iron's been scarce since that last job." When Hawke shook his head, Tomwise just huffed.

"Tell you what, if you ever find any nasty reagents and want me to whip you up something, just say the word. In fact, since you're an old friend, here's a little something. My specialty. Everyone needs an edge sometimes, right?"

Hawke smiled gratefully as he accepted the dirty-faced elf's recipe for the poison. It wasn't often that the stingy elf gave him anything without a price. He'd probably take Tomwise up on that offer…

Amell tugged at Hawke's elbow to keep him moving, not really enjoying the stares he was getting from some of Darktown's denizens.

It didn't take them long to find the lit lantern. Hawke felt his body hesitate just at the door. There was something strange within. It felt like… the Fade. But at the same time, it wasn't.

Amell patting his back startled Hawke back into reality. He pushed the door open, and stepped into Darktown's clinic.

It was actually rather nice. It was clean, the beds orderly. The Grey Warden, Anders, was tending to a patient farthest from the door. His hands glowed blue with creation magic, his face drawn tight with strain. Hawke could feel the healing aura roll off the mage in waves. A final blast of energy, and the boy Anders had been healing coughed, sitting up quickly and fully recovered. Anders stumbled back a bit, Magic petering out as he turned his back on the doors and tried to recovered his strength. The young patient's father patted him gently on the shoulder before the family strood past Hawke and the group.

Anders was leaning against the pillar, panting, when he felt the magic in Hawke. He felt the flare of anger within, and grabbed for his staff while he whirled on the "intruders".

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?!"

Hawke raised his hands is a placating manner, barely keeping himself from shaking beneath the weight of the stronger mage's presence. He let a bit of his magic loose, letting Anders feel its un-Harrowed touch.

"We are not here to harm you," Hawke assured. "All I want is to ask you some questions." He watched Anders relax and sigh, placing his staff aside.

"We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads," Varric cut in, "and rumor has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" Anders asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well, I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot… He hated the Deep Roads."

Hawke coughed.

"You had a cat? Named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the Deep Roads?"

"It was a gift," Anders protested. "A noble beast. Almost got torn in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood too! The blighted Wardens said he 'made me too soft'. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."

Amell raised an eyebrow in surprised, and Hawke chuckled before shaking his head and getting back on topic.

"I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people's lives."

"I will die a happy man if I never think about the Deep Roads again," Anders all but spat. "You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested in-" The healer cut himself off, looking unsettlingly contemplative.

"Although," he conceded, "A favor for a favor… Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you."

Hawke glanced back at Amell to find the white-haired warrior was already moving forward to stand beside him.

"Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads, and I'll do whatever you need," Amell promised. Anders looked doubtful.

"You don't ask for my terms? What if I were asking for the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?"

Amell looked so close to saying, "Gladly." Instead, he tilted his head to the side, set a smirk on his lips, and asked, "_Is_ that what you ask?"

"You decide," Anders shot back. They stared off for the briefest of moments before Anders began explaining his predicament.

"I have a Warden map of the Depths in this area. But there's a price: I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend- a mage, a prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The Templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps." Amell didn't even hesitate.

"No mage should suffer from an accident of birth. I would have helped you anyway, map or no."

Behind him, he could hear Carver murmur a number of obscenities and what sounded like, "Oh yes. Give the Templars of Kirkwall even more reason to hate us." But Amell was more focused on Anders than on his own grumpy cousin.

"Now you're just trying to get on my good side," Anders joked before becoming serious. "I welcome your aid. I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there, and we'll make sure that no matter who's there with him, we'll walk away free."

...

"You two go ahead," Hawke said, nodding to the lifts that took people back up to the surface. "Carver and I have business here."

Amell and Varric nodded, heading away, and Hawke turned back towards Carver.

"Well, Brother," Carver began, starting toward the ladder that lead up into the Amell Family's wine cellar. "Time to kick the ever-loving shit out of some slavers?"

Hawke laughed softly as he followed the younger into the cellar.

The cellars were both exactly what Hawke was expecting and nothing like it. They were as expansive as he'd been led to believe, lined with wooden diamond racks that would have once held some of the most expensive spirits in Kirkwall.

But no longer. Instead, the walls were lined with manacles and chains and cages to hold and subdue the soon-to-be slaves. Most were empty, but they still stood at the ready to hold the next to be shipped off.

"Disgusting," Hawke growled softly, eyes not lingering on the chains. There was a pit of dread forming in his stomach, adding to his general distaste of the place. But there was also something beyond that…

There was a mage somewhere in the tunnels; he could feel it.

"Agreed," Carver whispered back. His great-sword slid easily from its place on his back as two slaver guards stepped from the shadows. "Ready yourself. Enemies approaching."

Hawke let loose a little on the slavers, his magic making the air hum and crackle with electricity. Carver needed little protection, but that did not mean that at least a part of Hawke's attention was on the younger at all times. They made an excellent pair, covering each other's weak spots and watching each other's backs.

Hawke walked into a side room, investigating a chest with relative interest. There were documents within. By one… Tobrius? They looked like notes. Or maybe letters.

Carver was focused instead on a crest hanging on the wall,- black and red and deep brown and for the most part unmarred- a smaller one- black and red and white and with a small crack running across the bottom of its face- resting against the wall below it.

"The Amell Family Crest," Carver murmured, reaching out towards the larger shield almost reverently, his fingers hovered just above its glossy surface as though he were afraid to touch it. "Mother told me about it once."

Hawke hummed in understanding, kneeling down to examine the smaller crest. It was almost exactly the same as its larger cousin, sans the size and black trim. It almost looked to be something someone wore, with its delicately curved shape to fit snug against a hip or upper arm and straps to hold it in place and stronger material, even if it was a bit scratched. It probably wouldn't be missed; it was small and unassuming and slightly broken, but…

Hawke slipped it into his satchel, ignoring the odd look Carver gave him.

They made their way into a large, rather open cavern. The air moved oddly, different from the stagnant air in the tunnels that lead up to it. It rattled the chains hanging from the ceiling and the walls. It was like white noise, comforting and frightening at the same time.

A mage descended the steps towards them, robes making a gentle swishing sound as it brushed the wood of the stars, each tap echoing over the ambient noise of the chains.

"Gamlen sent you, didn't he?" The mage asked, not giving the brothers a chance to before continuing. "I knew I should have stabbed him in the neck when I had the chance."

With barely any warning, the room erupted into flame, and Hawke let his magic wrap around both himself in Carver- more around his brother than himself. He heard the clash of steel against steel, but he was forced to concentrate on everything but that._ Put out the flames. Focus on the mage. Don't let his magic overwhelm you, don't let it touch Carver, don't get run through by one of the guards_.

By the time they were done, the room was all but ruined.

"Well, that was productful," Hawke murmured, collecting a key and a bag of coins off the body of the mage. He then turned to Carver, who was standing at the base of the steps leading up into the estate proper.

"That must be the vault," Carver said, gesturing to the red wooden door. "Anything we might want to know about the Amell family is in there."

Hawke nodded, starting up the stairs with little hesitation. Carver followed after a moment's pause.

The vault was full of books and silks and treasures, but Hawke stood past that. It wasn't what concerned him at the moment. What he _was_ concerned with, was the chest at the end of the room that he knew held Grandfather Amell's will.

"Ready to go?" Carver asked once Hawke was done collecting what had been left in the chest. Hawke nodded again, standing.

"Let's go."

…

It was just before sunset when the two siblings made it back to Gamlen's house.

"...so, I'm just saying; blood's blood and all, but you're taking advantage of my hospitality. It would only be fair if you made some kind of… monthly… contribution-"

Hawke and Carver stepped through the door just in time to hear Gamlen say this. Amell was sitting at the small table and waved to them as they shut the door quietly behind them.

Leandra looked absolutely furious.

"You sold my children into servitude! Now you're asking me to pay rent?!"

"Maybe just put a little something towards food?" Gamlen mumbled, backing off now that he saw Garrett and Carver approaching.

"We found the will, Gamlen," Hawke announced. He turned towards his mother, handing her the thick, heavy, ink-leaden parchment.

"He forgave you. Mother," Carver said. "Grandfather left you everything."

Gamlen looked around for an escape while Leandra read the will aloud.

"To my daughter Leandra, and all children born of her… the estate in Hightown and all associated revenues…"

"Check out the part where it says Gamlen is only left a stipend," Hawke suggested, circling around behind Gamlen to keep the older man from fleeing. "To be controlled by you."

"Gamlen, how could you?" Leandra asked, face frozen in an expression of dismay.

"You're the one who ran away, Leandra," Gamlen accused. "What happened to 'love is so much more important than money'?"

"It is!"

"You didn't even come home for the funeral!"

"The twins were a week old!"

"We all have our burdens. Mine was looking after a life you abandoned. How long was I suppose to wait?"

"Did you wait even a minute, Gamlen?" Hawke asked. "I highly doubt you let the ashes get cold."

"I took care of Father. I stayed! And on his deathbed, all he could talk about was Leandra!" Gamlen took a breath, visibly calming himself before continuing. "Look, sister. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, but I did. And there's nothing I can do to get it back!"

"I don't expect that, Gamlen," Leandra said, exasperated. "It's enough to know Mother and Father didn't die angry. I'll petition the Viscount for rights to reclaim the estate. Maker willing, you'll have your house back within weeks."

"You don't have the coin or standing to even get an audience with the Viscount," Gamlen told her harshly. "You've got to be something in this city to live in that house again!"

Leandra raised her head proudly, looking her taller sibling square in the eyes.

"Then I had better get started."

Gamlen gave both mother and son a disgusted look, shaking his head.


	4. Act 1: Scene 4

**Word Count: 4,199 **

**Warnings: Canon Divergence (to a point), Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of former abuse, mentions of former slavery. **

* * *

**Act I: Scene IV- Of Elves and Mages, of Slavers and Templars**

_Leandra raised her head proudly, looking her taller sibling square in the eyes._

"_Then I had better get started."_

_Gamlen gave both mother and son a disgusted look, shaking his head._

"We have to go out again tonight?" Carver asked, looking up at Hawke. The older sibling nodded, slipping into the only open seat at the small, rickety round table.

"I'm taking Varric with me to go and help Anders," Amell said, pouring his cousin a cup of tea- watered down and insipid tea, thanks to the cost of the stuff, but tea none-the-less. "Where are you two going?"

"Anso," Hawke said by way of explanation. He elaborated at his brother's somewhat confused look. "He's a contact. Says he has some work for us. If you," he tipped his head towards Amell, "and Varric would like to accompany us that far, that would be nice. I have a feeling we'll need Varric's… persuasive… skills."

Amell hummed in approval, sipping at his tea. Varric was a very diplomatic person, ever convincing. Could probably make a scholar believe the sky was purple or something similar. Perhaps it came from all the practice he had tell stories?

The three sat in silence for a few more minutes, enjoying their drink and moment of rest, before Carver started to fidget.

"Well," Amell sighed, collecting the cups and pot, "I suppose we should get going, yes?"

…

Lowtown at night wasn't anything close to what anyone would call safe. Not that any other parts of the city were much different, but the attacks by thugs in Lowtown it just seemed more… noticeable.

Like the way the party was assaulted by Sharps not minutes after they collected a surprisingly-still-sober-Varric from the Hanged Man.

Hawke was very careful to use only the most controlled, near-unnoticable magic, even at night- a bit of force here and there, a shield to deflect, not block, blades and arrows to make it seem as though they missed the party members by only small margins. It made them seem but a little stronger, a little more lucky, not magical. A laughably easy way of using his magic and still avoiding the eyes of the Templars, yes, but it didn't make Hawke any less nervous about using it.

They came upon the dwarf Anso examining a cart in the darkness of Lowtown's Market.

"Are you Anso?" Hawke asked as they walked up behind him. Said dwarf jumped at the sound of the human's voice.

"Yah?! You can't sneak up on someone like that. Way to give me a heart attack!"

"Jumpy much?" Hawke snarked. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No! It's just…"

"Bartrand was like that, too. When we first left Orzammar," Varric provided with a short laugh. "Kept thinking he was going to fall up into the sky!"

"Wouldn't that be a sight to see?" Carver mumbled sarcastically.

Hawke waved both of them off. "A mutual friend said you might have some work for me," he said, addressing Anso, who fidgeted under his gaze.

"Ah, yes…"

Hawke only half listened when Anso gave the explanation of the job- something about a shipment that never made it to him, the supplier's base in an abandoned house in the Alienage. He was distracted by a distinct hum in the air, a music without instruments or vocals yet was still inherently beautiful, seemingly unheard by any of the other party members. Lyrium song? To have enough of the substance in one place for a mage to be able to hear it's ambient melody…

"We'll do it," Hawke said. Carver groaned out a "do we have too?" but Hawke was already setting out towards the Alienage. Amell gave them a soft goodbye before he and Varric headed towards Hightown.

It was going to be an eventful night.

"Quiet here tonight," Carver remarked as they descended the steps into the Lowtown Alienage. "It's never this quiet."

"Maybe the elves decided to forgo the partying tonight?" Hawke sassed, eyebrow raised. It really was unnaturally quiet. Such oddness seemed to be happening more and more often as of late…

Hawke twisted easily when a Sharps Mercenary jumped at him with a dagger. Carver was dealing with a couple archers who had jumped from the roof of a building to take the stairs. It seemed to amuse the younger Hawke sibling, destroying the thugs. Garrett didn't really see the fun, but… Well, to each their own.

When they were done cleaning out the "supplier's" house, Carver poked at one of the bodies of the hired guards hesitantly with his toe as though he wasn't entirely certain the man (woman? Carver couldn't tell) was dead.

"A little too easy, don't you think?" He asked, looking over his shoulder to where Hawke was searching the supplier's chest. The older sibling opened the chest, then quickly slammed it closed.

There was a dark expression on his face when he stood.

"It's empty," he growled, stalking towards the door.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to go back and tell Anso," Carver remarked sassily, following his brother back into the Alienage plaza.

A half-circle of slaver guards were waiting for them outside the house, effectively surrounding them.

"That's not the elf!" One of them shouted, pointing towards Hawke and Carver. "Who're they?!"

"That doesn't matter," the captain snarled. "Our orders were to capture anyone leaving the house."

Hawke sent his brother an alarmed look as the slavers jumped forward, weapons raised. He squashed down the magic rising within him. The slavers didn't needed no more provocation than they already had. Magic would likely only serve to edge them on further; mage slaves were apparently very popular in the Tevinter.

Carver gave a shout when a magic bolt missed him by only a narrow margin, and Hawke decided he didn't care anymore. He placed two fingers to his forehead, focused his magic, then let it burst out in a wave around him, knocking the slaver guards off their feet. Carver laughed breathy at the shocked expressions of the other attackers, their pause giving Hawke time to take a few more of them down with well-placed bolts of ice and electricity. The slavers turned quickly on Hawke after that, and Carver took advantage of their split focus to attack the backs of many of them.

Once the plaza was littered with the bodies of slavers, Hawke set his staff across his back, Carver, his sword, and they started for the steps into the Lowtown slums.

Another Slaver Captain barred the way.

"I don't know who you are, friend, but you have made a grave mistake coming here," he said to Hawke. "Lieutenant! I want everyone in this clearing! Now!"

There was a cough, the sound of blood splatting on the stone, and the man Hawke could assume was the Captain's lieutenant came around the corner, covered in gashes and wet red. He managed out a broken, "C-captain." The thud of his body hitting the stone echoed through the empty square.

An olive-skinned elf in spiky, feathered armor descended the stairs after the dead lieutenant.

"Your men are dead." The elf's voice was deep, gravely, intimidating as he walked ever-so-calmly right past the captain. "And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can."

The captain approached the elf, his armor clanking harshly, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You're going nowhere, slave!"

The elf whirled on the human, electric blue markings glowing ever-so brightly as he shoved his fist clean through the slaver's chest, crushing the man's heart.

Hawke was struck by the full, enchanting, terrible force of the lyrium's song.

"I am not a slave."

The elf's voice had a certain tone of finality that Hawke had to respect. He turned to Hawke and his brother.

"I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so numerous."

Hawke shrugged. "Don't worry," he assured. "We do this sort of thing often."

"Impressive," the elf said, eyebrow raised in what might have been surprise or might have been interest. "My name is Fenris. These people," Fenris gestured to the bodies strewn across the clearing, "were imperial bounty hunters looking to reclaim a magisters lost property, namely myself. As crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."

"If they were really trying to recapture you," Hawke said with a dark expression, "then I'm glad I helped."

Fenris looked at Hawke with surprise, then with respect. "I have met few in my travels who sought anything more than personal gain." His face took on a kind of contemplative look. "Tell me, what was in the chest, the one in the house?"

"It was empty," Hawke said truthfully.

Fenris sighed, disappointed.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know."

"You didn't need to lie to get my help," Hawke insisted. Fenris gave him a wary look.

"That remains to be seen." The elf knelt beside the body of the captain, examining it, then pulling away quickly with a feral grin of success. "It's as I thought. My former master has accompanied them to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will need your help."

"From the way you're talking, it sounds as though you intend to do more than just talk to him," Hawke pointed out snarkily, smirking. Fenris, however, didn't seem to appreciate the attempt at humor.

"Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones," he growled matter-of-factly, "and has sent more men than I care to count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a qunari mage, a personal pet to mock their customs. So yes, I intend to do more than just talk." The dark expression returned to Hawke's face.

"If it means fighting more slavers, count me in."

Fenris nodded gratefully. "I will find a way to repay you, I swear it. The magister is staying in a mansion in hightown. Meet me there as soon as you're able. We must confront him before morning."

Hawke watched the elf turn the corner out of sight before sighing and stretching his arms over his head, popping his back.

"Well," he said, turning to his brother and smirking. "Feel like a trip up to Hightown?"

...

Amell and Varric made their way through the fairly silent, fairly empty streets of Hightown, Amell with a relative pep in his step.

"You're looking rather chipper to go to a _Chantry_," Varric pointed out. "Really that excited to see the Warden mage?"

Amell paused at the base of the stairs leading to the Chantry, looking back at Varric with confusion on his face. "Excited to get moving, really," he explained, shaking some of the nervous energy off of his hands. "And to get to kick so shit out of some Templars. Potentially, of course. But it would still be nice to show those jerks up every once in a while, even if it means sneaking a mage out from right under their noses."

Varric chuckled, gesturing to the large Chantry doors above and the lone mage in feathery-pauldron robes pacing before it. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

"I saw Karl go inside a little while ago," Anders reported as Amell and Varric approached. "No Templars so far… Are you ready?"

Amell nodded. "I didn't see anyone suspicious. Let's make this fast."

"Alright, I'll handle the talking, you watch for Templars. When we find Karl just… let me talk to him," Anders insisted.

And they entered the Chantry.

"It just feels… wrong… being in here at night," Amell mused, looking at the flameless candles and empty alcoves. It really was rather eerie, to see the normally bustling place so empty, so dark. The shadows made the place of worship seem more cursed than hallowed.

"When we find Karl just… let me talk to him," Anders emphasized again, making a beeline for the steps heading up to the upper levels of the Chantry. Amell and Varric followed behind warily.

They came upon Karl in a side alcove meant for sleep and study, his back to them as they drew near.

"Anders I know you too well. I knew you would never give up." All three did not miss the flatness of the man's voice.

"What's wrong?" Anders asked, alarmed. "Why are you talking like-?"

"I was too rebellious like you," Karl said as he turned towards the party. They could clearly see the mark of the Chantry on his brow. The mark of the Tranquil. "The Templars knew I had to be… made an example of."

"No…" Anders protested weakly.

"How else will the mages master themselves? You will understand Anders. As soon as the Templars teach you to control yourself." Templars swarmed up the stairs behind them, blocking their escape. "This is the apostate."

Anders glowed in a fierce blue light, cracks of the same color appearing across his skin. "No!" He shouted, voice a harmony of his own and another, a deeper voice that was clearly unearthly. Magic burst forth from him in waves, a metallic taste coating Amell's tongue from the force of the anger behind it. "You will never take another mage as you took him!"

Amell shot Varric a concerned look before jumping into combat with the Templars, magic and arrows assisting him from behind. They were not easy opponents by any means; if anything, it only showed how far Amell was behind on his training. Their skills often removed whatever shields Anders threw up to protect him, and Amell couldn't quite always keep up with the Templars' movements, especially since there was more than one of them. He was going to really have to hit the training after this.

The last Templar fell to a clean arrow through the face, and Amell rushed back to Anders's side.

Karl was looking… Better. More normal. Less empty.

"I- Anders what did you do?" Karl asked. He sounded terrified. "It's like you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like."

"I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever?" Amell asked doubtfully.

"When you're tranquil you never think of your life before," Karl explained. "But it's like a piece of the Fade is inside Anders, burning like the sun! Please," he pleaded, "kill me before it fades again. I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading!"

Anders recoiled in horror. "Karl, no-"

"Hawke tells me that being made Tranquil is a fate worse than death," Amell said sadly, pressing the hilt of his own red-and-black blade into Anders's palm. "Please, put him out of his misery."

"I got here too late," Anders choked out, holding back tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Now!" Karl begged. "It's fading!"

"Goodbye," Anders whispered, driving the blade just beneath Karls ribs. A quick death. "We should leave," the mage suggested as he removed the blade from its unfortunate victim and handed it back to Amell, his voice flat and almost as empty as Karl's had been when they first came upon him, "before more Templars come."

It wasn't until they were back in Darktown's clinic that Anders finally faced Amell again; Varric had left them as they passed the Hanged Man.

"_I have an important part of the story to write down!" Varric exclaimed. "So much happened tonight! I can't let it get away!"_

_Amell nodded, half-smiling tensely. "You be careful, Varric," Amell stressed. "The last thing we need is you to get screwed over by some drunk at the bar."_

_Varric assured Amell that he'd be alright ("I practically live here! It's not like anyone's going to jump me here!") before turning away and heading inside._

"I guess I have some explaining to do," Anders admitted. Amell nodded in approval. "I.. this is hard to explain. When I was in Amarantine, I met a spirit of Justice. We became friends, and he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day."

Amell raised an eyebrow in interest. "This spirit sound like a useful friend to have."

"He is far better to me than I have been to him," Anders diverted. "To live outside the Fade, he needed a host, I offered to help. We were going to work together, to help every child ever ripped away from its mother!-" Anders paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself before going on. "But I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me he… changed."

"I'm sorry," Amell said, stepping forward and resting a hand on the side of Anders's neck. "This is obviously difficult for you."

"I thought I was helping my friend," Anders admitted. "But my anger… When I see Templars now. Things that always bothered me, but I could never help… He comes out, and he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of Vengeance. and he has no grasp of mercy."

"So that explains your whole sexy tortured look," Amell joked weakly, running his thumb along the mage's cheek and wiping off a bit of lingering dried blood.

"Maybe I should check the looking glass more often," Anders said with a chuckle, taking a step back. Amell took the hint and- though hesitantly- let the mage go. "I rarely meet a man willing to say such things so openly," Anders confessed, "but you're obviously no mere man." He took a pause, a deep breath, then went on. "My maps are yours. As am I if you wish for me to join you on your expedition. I thought I was done being a Grey Warden, but if you have any need of me… I will be waiting here."

...

"No one has left the mansion, and I've heard nothing within," Fenris reported as Hawke and Carver approached. "Danarius may know we're here. I wouldn't put it past him."

Hawke stared up at the large mansion with interest. "I could stand to know a little more about this 'Danarius'."

"He is a magister of the Tevinter Imperium. There, he is a wealthy mage with great influence." Fenris scoffed, gesturing towards the large building. "Here, he is but a man who sweats when death comes for him."

"He may have prepared some magical defenses…" Hawke warned.

Fenris half-smiled impishly. "They will not keep me from him," he assured.

The inside of the mansion looked…Well, for lack of a better term, abandoned; empty crates were stacked half-hazardly against the walls, cobwebs filled the corners, dust laid in thick layers on neat every available surface. And it was quiet. So very quiet. One could hear a pin drop.

"Where are you, Master?!" Fenris shouted, his voice echoing through the seemingly empty mansion. When there was no response, he stormed onward.

They passed through the next door, into the next room where a dying fire burned in the fireplace, and were immediately assaulted by shades rising up from the floor.

"He sent spirits to do his fighting for him," Fenris growled, cutting easily through the demons. "Danarius! Do you hear me?! Your pets cannot stop us!"

"There's more coming!" Carver warned, spinning to block against the shade that had risen up behind him.

The next, large room was filled with even more shades and even a rage demon. Fenris and Carver stood well against them, but Hawke struggled to fight without using more than the slightest fraction of his magic- even less than usual, because Fenris and his lyrium markings would no doubt sense any more.

But when a pair of shades backed him into a corner, Hawke had no choice but to use his magic or risk being torn apart. He let loose a simple outward blast of magic that knocked the shades back and gave him more room to maneuver before finishing them both off with quick strikes of his bladed staff.

He didn't miss the shrewd look Fenris gave him, but chose to ignore it. To him, it was another discussion for another time.

The party was forced to search nearly every room in the mansion to find the key to the main study up the stairs from the main, large room. Hawke heard an unfriendly hiss when the lock clicked, and whirled quickly around to throw up a shield and block the wave of magic coming at him, Carver, and Fenris. The Arcane Horror sneered as it cast additional spells, and Fenris and Carver leapt forward to deal with it, Hawke's subtle magic at their backs while the mage busied himself with trying to keep some of the shades off them.

The demons finally vanquished, Fenris stalked into the study, looking around in solemn defeat.

"Gone," the elf lamented. "I had hoped… No. It doesn't matter any longer." He gestured toward the chests piled in the corner of the room. "I assume Danarius left some valuables behind. Take them if you wish. I… need some air."

They found Fenris just outside the manor, resting against a nearby wall and staring up at the stars.

"It never ends," he said. "I escaped a land of dark magic, only for it to hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul." He pushed off the wall and approached Hawke, almost _bristling_ in anger. "And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage. I saw you casting spells inside," he accused. "I should have realized sooner what you were. So tell me, what manner of mage are you? What is it you seek?"

Hawke tipped his head to the side, smiling in grim amusement. "I'm not seeking anything," he stated blandly. "But if you want to help me find out, you're more than welcome to."

"Yet danger will undoubtedly find you, no matter where you try to hide or what you try to do."

"It's not as though I asked for this. You have no idea how many times I have tried cutting off my magic for the sake of being normal."

"And yet here you stand, casting your spells and leaving yourself vulnerable to possession of any kind. You are a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

"My brother is not like that!" Carver protested, earning him a fond look from Garrett and a startled look from Fenris.

The elf cleared his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so I apologize. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here's all the coin I have, as promised." He handed Hawke a small purse of sovereigns. "Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it."

Hawke nodded sagely. "I'm planning an expedition I may need help with."

"Fair enough. Should you ever have need of me, I will be here. If Danarius ever want it back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that, I am at your disposal."

Hawke stepped aside to allow Fenris back into the manor, savoring the last strains of the lyrium's song as the elf walked inside and out of the mage's sight, the solid stone of the walls keeping him from sensing Fenris any longer.

"C'mon, Carver," Hawke said, turning away from the manor and heading back towards Lowtown. "Let's go back to Gamlen's."

…

Amell was waiting up when the two brothers returned.

"Long day, huh?" He asked in a whisper as both Garrett and Carver dropped into their respective seats around the table. Both men groaned in pain and reached for the drinks Amell had prepared for them almost simultaneously.

"In the future, let's try to avoid any jobs that require midnight laps around Kirkwall," Hawke suggested just as quietly, savoring wine Amell had chosen to pour instead of tea. Maker knows he could use the alcohol.

"I second that motion," Carver supplied, all but dropping his head on the table in exhaustion. "I know I'm always complaining about the day never being exciting enough, but that was too much excitement for one day."

"Trust us to always do things in excess, huh?" Amell joked, leaning back in his chair and taking a quick draught of his wine. "It's always one or the other."

"Then let's find a grey area and settle," Hawke proposed. "I don't know about you guys, but I am going to try to do absolutely nothing of notable excitement tomorrow except go up to see Fenris and figure out what his _damn problem_ is with me." Carver chuckled tiredly and Amell raised an eyebrow.

"There's a story there?"

"In the morning."

...

Amell poked at Hawke until he was at least halfway awake.

"I'm going to go see Anders," Amell whispered, papping Hawke on the head. "You get some more sleep."

Hawke groaned and batted at Amell's hands before mumbling out something similar to 'okay'. Amell chuckled as he left, the sun just barely casting its light over the empty streets of Kirkwall.


	5. Act 1: Intermission 1

**Word Count: 1,043**

**Warnings: Annoyingly Canon Compliant (kinda), Mentions of past abuse, the sharing of feels.**

* * *

**Act I: Intermission I- Of Anders and Fenris, On Loss and Freedom**

Part 1:

"I had a friend like you once," Anders confided, handing Amell a cup of tea- real, strong tea, a delicacy in such a time. Amell was going to have to ask where he got it from. The Clinic was mostly empty, no patients needing attention, so Anders could take the time to just… sit and talk. "Got in all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Never thought I'd be doing that again." Both men chuckled, and Anders became a bit more serious, a bit more solemn, as he continued. "I got a bit weighty last time we talked. Sorry for putting that on you."

Amell shrugged, half-smiling. "I'm always ready to listen. You can tell me anything."

"Anything? Be careful what you offer," Anders warned. He paused a moment, taking a breath to steady himself. "I just… I hope I didn't seem too selfish when I told you about Justice. I didn't know what would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend… it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse."

"At least he got a nice body," Amell said with a grin. "He can't really complain about his looks." Anders gave Amell a long, fond look, but didn't respond to the comment.

Instead, he said, "Growing up in the Circle, everything is about order and rules and the Templars. The apprentices… we found ways to make it bearable. Karl… he was my first. We could forget that out in the world, we were nothing but Templar slaves." Anders hung his head, eyes unfocused and burning with unshed tears. "We hadn't been together for a long time, but still… it hurt."

"I'm sorry." Amell placed a gentle hand on Anders's shoulder. "No one should have to go through that."

"It's the blighted Templars," Anders raged, brushing the warrior's hand off as he stood quickly. "They don't see us as people! They don't care that Karl was someone's son… someone's lover. If you're born with magic, they hear about it! They search your little rat-spit village and find you! They tell your parents they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you. stripped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker!" The blue cracks blossomed across Anders's skin. "And if you run away, they hunt you down. Again and again and again…"

"You're starting to glow again…" Amell warned.

Anders sighed, trembling as he calmed himself and let the spirit fade. "And since yours the only head here and I don't what to rip it off," Anders said, voice wavering as though he were out of breath, "I should stop. Yes. Sorry. Besides, we have much to do before the Deep Roads. Next time I'll try to keep to more… pleasant... topics." Amell nodded, standing and placing a hand on the side of Anders's neck again.

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment before releasing the mage and forcing himself to leave.

…

Part 2:

"Aggritio Pavalli," Fenris announced, rolling the bottle of wine between his hands. "There are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius use to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed."

Fenris paced a bit before the small table that Hawke sat beside. Their weapons rested against a nearby wall, never quite out of reach.

Hawke smirked up at the elf. He was tired, aching, but he was glad to be in the olive-skinned elf's presence. "I can't imagine why they would be put off."

Fenris chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment." He took a drink of the wine, gave the bottle a long, contemplating look, then threw it against the wall. It shattered, peppering the floor beneath with shards of green glass and staining the wall and floor a rich, purple-red color. Fenris grinned. "It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things."

"That was a waste," Hawke pouted. "You could have offered me a glass first, you know."

"There's more in the cellar, if you're truly interested." Fenris's voice was full of amused doubt.

"Perish the thought!" Hawke said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "How else are you going to redecorate the walls?"

Fenris chuckled, sitting down across from the mage. He sighed, shaking his head and staring at the new wine stain on the wall. "I wanted to leave my past behind me, but It seems it won't stay there." He turned to Hawke. "Tell me; have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"

"Lothering is gone," Hawke said. "I have no home left to return to."

"The Blight is over, you could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?"

"I have a new life now." Hawke took a deep breath. "Even if I wanted to, Kirkwall is my home now."

To Fenris, it sounded like those words were as much to convince him as they were to convince Hawke himself.

"Having a place to put down roots… I understand." Fenris sighed, almost in envy. "Still, to have the option… must be gratifying."

"Maybe it's just me," Hawke said jokingly, "but it sounds like you want to stay."

"I could see myself staying, for the right reasons," the elf confided. His eyes flicked to the table, carefully examining the whirls and grains of the wood. "I.. should thank you for helping me against the hunters," he admitted almost bashfully. "Had I know Anso would find me a man so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."

"Flatterer," Hawke accused playfully. "You sound like you're about to ask for a loan."

Fenris chuckled. "Well, this mansion does need some upkeep." He stood, half-smiling. "Perhaps I will practice my flattery for your next visit. With any luck I will become better at it."

Hawke nodded, letting the elf walk him to the door.

"Fenris," Hawke called once he was outside, stopping the elf. "I'm taking a party up Sundermount in a few days. Would you like to join us?"

The elf looked to think it over for a moment before he nodded. "Whenever you need me, I'll be here."


	6. Act 1: Scene 5

**Word Count: 4,179**

**Warnings: Canon Divergence, canon-typical violence.**

* * *

**Act I: Scene V- Up and Down Sundermount, and the Trouble it Brings.**

Fenris was really starting to wonder why he'd agreed to join Hawke's little party up the mountain in the first place. He'd promised to work off his debt to Hawke, yes, but he'd promised to join the man's Deep Roads expedition, not his seemingly asinine tramps into the countryside!

But no shit, there he was, following Hawke, Amell, and Aveline up a sandy mountain path, Varric walking beside him. At least the "Little Hawke", Carver, wasn't there with them. Neither sibling was bearable, but the mage was… more so.

"There might be a few stragglers before the main horde," Aveline warned softly, "nothing we can't handle." Fenris shrugged and drew his sword, holding it wide in warning and guard.

There was a whisper of noise, a flash of shadow, and an assassin appeared behind Hawke, attempting to drive a blade between the mage's ribs.

The clearing erupted in combat. Aveline was actually right; it wasn't near the number for an appropriate caravan ambush. It was little more than a scouting party, really, and the group had no trouble with that nor the next they faced. The actual ambush was not much more challenging, thankfully, and though a few archers' arrows did come a bit close for comfort, Hawke kept them shielded and safe from such projectiles and even a few close blades.

Fenris was both thankful for the magic and aggravated by it, but ultimately said nothing.

"Rather well-equipped for highwaymen," Aveline commented, "but the job's done. We should report to the Keep when we get back to Kirkwall so that I can explain our initiative to the captain."

Aveline and Amell chatted a bit about their next route up the mountain to find the Dalish camp, but Fenris wasn't quite paying attention. There was something… Odd about the air, the hum of old magic and intense energy that was both abnormal and entirely natural. No man nor elf nor manner of beast could radiate that much raw energy for that long. Not without committing variable suicide.

Hawke seemed to notice too; the mage's skin was pale, slightly sickly, as though he were feeling the effects of the magic even more than Fenris.

"I thought all dwarves had beards?" Fenris asked Varric in an attempt to distract himself from the heavy feeling in the air. "Where's yours?"

Varric chuckled, placing Bianca across his back. "I misplaced it, along with my sense of dwarven pride and my gold-plated noble caste pin."

"I thought maybe it fell onto your chest," Fenris deadpanned, looking ahead the entire time without the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Varric caught on immediately, though.

"Oh-ho! The broody elf tells a joke!"

Fenris frowned. "I don't brood."

"Friend," Varric began loudly and very seriously, drawing the eyes of the whole party, "if your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed. They'd have broody babies in your honor." All but Varric and Fenris burst into laughter for a short time, the tension woven between them all easing greatly.

"You're a very odd dwarf," Fenris conceded with a half-smile. Varric finally laughed, though it was abrupt and slightly wry.

"And you thought I was joking about the pin."

They walked in silence for a good time after, the tension eased from the air, though the tang of magic had diminished none. Fenris took the time to really look at his surroundings. He'd been out of the city few times during his- admittedly- short stay in Kirkwall, either fearing hunters or fearing missing Danarius, had the Tevinter mage decided to come "home". But now that he was really taking a moment to look, Fenris couldn't quite tell if he was impressed by the scenery or disgusted by it. It was very rocky, with plants and moss giving it splashes of green and brown and- on the occasion there was a flower of some sort- yellow and white. It was so very simplistic it was almost cliche, yet at the same time so very beautiful.

Fenris didn't even realize how late in the day it was becoming- or how long they'd been traveling- until the sun fell behind the mountain and cast its shadow over the valley. The same area that had been beautiful in its simplicity but a moment before was now filled with ominous shadows: places for demons and slavers and other unwanted to lie in wait.

And yet, the sounds of children's laughter filled his ears, followed by the skittering of rocks as they fell down the mountain in their wake. Every member of the party looked up in surprise to see three elf children leaping from rock to rock on a higher cliff, playing a dangerous game of tag. Fenris blinked in surprise. Varric chuckled.

"Well, I'll be damned. I thought elves liked trees."

"They can adapt pretty well," Amell rebutted. "Their balance is better than that of humans. Elves in the cities learn to run from roof to roof. Elvish clans in the higher mountain are said to be able to run on top of snow. I'm not surprised to see the elves her have learned to run on the cliffs." Everyone looked at him in interest, and the white-haired warrior blushed. "My brother was a Circle mage. He use to send books all the time. They were… really interesting."

Two elves- a male and a female- dressed in Dalish-craft armor, stepped from the shadows and blocked the path, so silently that the embarrassed Amell didn't even see them until he almost ran into them.

"Hold, shemlen! Your kind are not welcome here!"

Hawke, with nerves worn thin by the long trek up the mountain, snapped back," Look, I'm not expecting tea and cake! We're just here to see someone!"

The male Dalish took offense, stepping forward threateningly, but the woman gave them a long, appraising look before stopping her companion.

"Wait! I think these are the ones the Keeper told us about!"

The man looked on them in surprise. "Really? I thought you'd be elves." He stepped aside to allow them passage.

"Enter the camp," the woman said respectfully. "The Keeper has been waiting for you."

"Cause trouble, and you'll meet our blades, stranger," the man warned. Fenris bowed his head to both of them as he passed.

The Keeper was as Fenris had expected; Keeper Marethari was visibly old, even for an elf, and her voice carried knowledge that was beyond measure. Her Vallaslin was elaborate and told of age and maturity and burden.

"Marethari?" Hawke began as he strode confidently up to her, seemingly oblivious to the angry glares and half-readied weapons of some of the other elves about the camp. "I was told to bring you this amulet." Marethari looked over the amulet that was handed to her for a long moment.

"_Andaran antish'an_, travelers," she greeted. "Indeed, I am Keeper Marethari. Let me look at you." She stepped forward, looking long into the eyes of Hawke, then of Amell. "There is a light in your heart, human," she said to Amell almost in surprise. "Don't let it go out. You will need it." She stepped back and handed Hawke the amulet. "Tell me how this burden fell to you, child."

"A dragon fell from the sky, charred up some darkspawn, then asked me to bring you this amulet. No big deal." Hawke's almost joking demeanor earned him confused looks from both Varric and Fenris and amused ones form Amell, Aveline, and Keeper Marethari.

"You are blessed by luck, then," Marethari commented. "I will pray that Mythal watches over your path." She sighed before continuing. "The amulet must be taken to an altar on the top of the mountain, and given a Dalish rite for the departed. Then, return the amulet to me. Do this, and your debt will be repaid."

"Will you teach me this rite for the departed?" Hawke asked. Marethari shook her head.

"I will send my First with you. She will see to it the ritual is done. And when it is complete, I must ask you take her with you when you go."

"As you wish," Hawke conceded, eyebrows arched in confusion. "But, who is your 'First'? 'First' of what?"

"You're people would call her my apprentice or heir. Merrill would have taken my place as Keeper," Marethari explained. "But, she has chosen a new path. Please, guide her safely from here. It is not as I wish, but it is hers, and I must grant it.

You will find Merrill waiting for you on the trail just up the mountain in the morning. For tonight, you and your companions may rest on the edge of the camp. _Dareth shiral._"

Amell thanked the Keeper for her hospitality, but Hawke was concerned with another worry.

"Exactly what have I been carrying around? It feels like… magic," he mumbled, looking at the strange effigy in his palm. Marethari seemed to have heard him, for she turned towards him, face full of solemn understanding.

"It's a promise, child. Made by one whose word still has weight. And therefore it has terrible power. There are few things in this world more powerful than a promise kept. Remember that."

...

Fenris stared into the fire, enjoying its warmth. The camp was set, per Marethari's instructions, on the very edge of the Dalish camp, close enough that they maintained some contact, but not so close that they were stepping on the elves' already irritated toes. A few elves- which were either tolerant or daring- associated themselves with the party, whether to trade or to simply talk. Most came to speak with Hawke, the man Marethari had apparently been waiting a good time for, or Amell, with his strange white hair that so often spoke of one harboring powerful magic. Fenris supposed there were those who wished to speak with him,- especially a few of the children who he knew would be coming into their magic soon, if they did at all- but the spiky armor probably scared them away.

There was a shift on the log beside him, and Fenris looked over in surprise to see Hawke sitting down on the pseudo-bench. The mage looked… worn, as though the endeavours of the day were finally catching up with him. There were the faintest of bags under his eyes, lines on his face that had no place being on someone that young.

"I think you have an excellent idea going on with that armor, serah," he commented idly, leaning his head back to look up at the stars. "Keeps people away."

"Well maybe you should wear armor of some sort," Fenris jabbed subtly, "and not those flimsy robes you normally wear."

Hawke looked surprised. Then affronted. "Hey! I protect myself perfectly well without armor, thank you very much!"

Fenris huffed. "I don't think your left arm would say the same."

There was the slightest moment where Fenris could have sworn he saw a flash of fear in the mage's whiskey eyes at the mention of the injury, a moment when Hawke nearly drew away, but it was covered up quickly. Covered up be faux confidence and barriers of ice and fire and magic and jokes.

Instead of drawing away, the mage closed his eyes and hung his head, shaking it, and smiled.

"Ouch, Fenris. That almost hurt worse than the scratch."

_Scratch_. Hawke had said it with a kind of near-unconscious stress that Fenris was sure meant he was trying to hide something. And as much as the man's very presence pissed Fenris off, if he was hiding a serious injury for no real reason…

"You're a healer, aren't you? Why don't you just heal it already? You keep telling _me_ that even a small wound can easily get infected."

Fenris didn't mean for it to come out as harshly as it probably sounded, but he was answered with a sad, empty smile and a shrug. The mage's lack of response felt lifeless, and the silence was really beginning to grate on Fenris's nerves, but he was far too tired to contemplate getting into yet another argument with the mage that night.

Hawke didn't protest when Fenris wordlessly stood and walked away, just nodded and returned to watching the stars.

…

Merrill was where Marethari had said she would be: partway up a steep mountain path, waiting, resting against a rock and muttering to herself. She bolted up when Hawke and his companions approached.

"Oh! Eh, hello! I didn't notice you there! My name's Merrill. Though, you probably already knew that… Oh! I haven't even asked you your name yet, have I? Unless, it's rude to ask a human their name…"

"_Andaran antish'an_, Merrill. It's nice to meet you."

The little elf girl backtracked quickly, her face more surprised than she'd been when they walked up on her. "You speak elvish?"

Amell chuckled, shaking his head. "That's about it, and my accent is atrocious."

Merrill giggled and smiled. "Oh, it's not that bad. I've heard worse!"

The warrior dipped his head and gestured up the trail with a "shall we?" He almost looked like one of those knights out of legend, and Hawke wanted to laugh at the thought.

The path was steep, winding, but somehow it was easier to travel than the sandy trail they had followed up the mountain. The ambient magic had not waned, but it was not heavy anymore. It pushed them forward, encouraging them.

It terrified Hawke. He almost didn't want to continue. But he knew he could not back out. _There are few things in this world more powerful than a promise kept._ A promise kept. Hawke would keep his promise. Flemeth had saved them, as she said she would. Hawke would at least do this for the old woman.

He'd do it, but that didn't mean he had a bad feeling about it.

Merrill's gentle laughter rang from ahead on the path, and Hawke couldn't help but listen in on the conversation she was having with Amell.

"... And then he almost hit him! I'm not even joking, he must have missed by a hair's breadth! On purpose! I've never seen Cousland so terrified!"

"Oh, that sounds like Mahariel," Merrill said through her giggles. "He forgave the humans for the past, always, but that doesn't mean he let them push him around."

Amell laughed with her, his eyes sparking with glee. Hawke didn't blame him. Merrill was a pretty girl, a companionable one. Her company came easy, even if she was really, _really_ innocent.

"So, Merrill," Amell began, his voice taking on that edge of prying without wanting to seem as though he were prying, "you're Marethari's First, right? So, are you a mage?"

Merrill, to her credit, didn't miss a beat. "Of course! All Keepers know a bit of magic. I've never really fought before,- well, not in a group, I've done a bit of fighting on my own- but I'll try not to hit anyone. On our side."

Amell flashed his stage smile, telling Merrill he was glad she was on their side, but Hawke could see the worry crinkle at the edge of his eyes. He didn't blame the silver-eyed warrior. He even knew the dangers of un-Harrowed magic- how it attracts demons more, how mages who have not gone through the Harrowing seem more part of the Fade than Circle mages and how sometimes demons can hardly tell the difference between an un-Harrowed mage and another spirit and how sometimes the demons find it easier to reach out to touch you. The same danger Hawke poses Merrill does as well. And Hawke understood.

The Fade rippled, and Hawke had his staff out and was shouting a warning even as the undead were trying to crawl out of their graves. Maker, he hated undead. Darkspawn are poisonous, humans are sneaky, demons are persuasive, but undead? Just unnatural. And disgusting- hole-riddled skin clinging to bone, torn and dissolving clothing hanging off their degenerating frames...

At least they burned easily. Hawke's fire caught one, the leapt from one to the next and weakened them for Amell's and Aveline's and Fenris's swords and Varric's arrows. And they didn't scream. Not really. Just… Moaned. And it wasn't that hard to tune out in favor of the crackling of flames and the clash of metal and even the sound of the wildlife. Anything _but_ the sound of their un-harrowed voices.

Hawke poked at a… Dead undead? He hoped it wouldn't move again. Merrill let out a strained laugh.

"Well, that was certainly exciting!"

Amell just pressed his lips together into a fine line and nodded, not wanting to be the downer to her fun.

Rattle of bones, Fenris is yelling, and Hawke cries out as he feels serrated teeth dig into his shoulder. A wave of raw Fade comes from behind and a spell whirls over his shoulder and Hawke stumbles forward out of the corpse's grip, eyes wide and one hand gripping the wound on his shoulder as he watches Merrill and Fenris tear the corpse into pieces before anyone else can really react. Amell finally pulls Hawke forward, and Aveline and Varric try to pull Merrill and Fenris off their victim, both of whom were to the point of shouting profanities in their mother tongue.

"Whoa, Broody, I think it's had enough!"

"Merrill, stop!"

"Hawke, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Marcus. I-I think."

Amell took Hawke by the shoulders and slouched a bit so that he could look the mage straight in the eyes. "Hawke," he said slowly, purposefully, "I'm fairly certain a skeleton just tried to give you a hickie. Are you _sure_ you're alright?"

Varric choked at Amell's choice of words, and Hawke couldn't help but laugh as well. Everyone looked around at each other, dazed, but otherwise laughing hysterically. Hawke leaned against his cousin, gasping for breath as he tried to control his giggles.

"Yeah. I'm good. Let's go."

...

"_Hahren na melana sahlin. _

_Emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas. _

_In Ulthera na revas."_

Fenris didn't recognize a word of what Merrill said, but it apparently served it's purpose. Wind whipped across the mountaintop as Merrill fell silent, knocking all but the two Hawkes, Amell, and Merrill back a few steps away from the altar.

And the Witch of the Wilds, Asha'Bellanar, Flemeth, appeared before them in a flash of golden light.

"Aaah! And here we are!"

Merrill bowed deeply, falling to her knees before the ancient witch.

"_Andaran antish'an_, Asha'Bellanar."

"A witch!" Fenris hissed, dropping into a battle crouch and reaching for his sword.

"Calm yourself," Aveline ordered gently, "we know this one."

Flemeth turned her golden eyes on Merrill, expression unreadably but possibly the slightest bit… disappointed?

"One of the People, I see, so young and so bright. Do you know who I am, beyond that title?"

Merrill shook her head fiercely.

"I know only little," she said respectfully, almost fearfully, not raising her eyes.

"Then stand," Flemeth ordered, punctuating it with a broad yet graceful gesture. "The People bend their knee too quickly." She turned to the Hawkes and Amell, an amused half-smile on her face.

"So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of the bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in some merchant's pocket."

"No one wanted to buy it," Hawke informed cheekily. "Maybe because it had a witch inside it?"

"Only a piece. A small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security, should the inevitable occur," Flemeth assured. She tipped her head back with an ominous laugh. "And if I know my Morrigan, It already has."

"You are no simple witch," Fenris growled. Every muscle in his body was taut; on one hand, he wanted to run, but on the other, he wanted to lunge at the witch and rip her throat out.

Flemeth looked as calm as the air before a summer storm. "Figured that out yourself, did you?"

It was only Hawke that held Fenris back from Flemeth. The others simply stood to the side and watched as Fenris snarled, "I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations. But you are none of those things. What are you?"

"Such a curious lad," Flemeth noted. tipping her head to the side in vague interest. "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Fenris flinched, stepping back. "You see a great deal." Flemeth just smiled, that knowing, _irking_ smile that made Fenris really want to try and wipe it right off. But Hawke, ever the mediator, held him back.

Flemeth blinked slowly, turning away to look over the mountains, and Fenris had to admit she struck an intimidating pose. The light gave her a fierce silhouette, like a bird of prey looking over its whole domain.

Or a high dragon. Either way, Fenris was uncomfortable.

"The world teeters on the precipice of change. A word of advice? When the time comes, do not hesitate to jump." Flemeth turned back to the group. "It is only when we fall that we know if we can fly/"

"Not bad advice," Hawke commented snarkily, "coming from a _dragon_."

Flemeth shrugged. "We all have our disadvantages." She turned back to the landscape spread of the mountains. "I'm afraid I must leave. Just as there is a future awaiting you, there is always one awaiting me. Go, and when the time comes, _seize it_."

And she was gone. Fenris was miffed that he didn't get the chance to punch the witch, but there were more important things to pay attention to. Like the little blood mage that they had to get back to the her clan, perhaps? Though, from the way Marethari was talking, they probably didn't want her back. At least she kept to Amell and Varric and gave Fenris as wide a berth their little party would allow.

"Are you sure you have to do this, _dalen_? There is still a chance-"

"_Dareth shiral_, Keeper. Thank you for all you have done for me."

Merrill turned and left before the Keeper had a chance to say any more, and Amell looked from Merrill's back, to the older elf, and then back to her before running after her.

"Take care of her, Hawke," Marethari ordered. "That is all I ask of you."

Hawke bowed to the older woman, assuring her that he would do all in his power to make sure Merrill stayed out of trouble. He, too, left without another word, and the others followed.

...

"It always sounds so cheerful in there, but I'd never know what to do."

Hawke and Carver and Amell were standing off to the side a bit, talking about Sundermount and what they'd seen. Fenris and Anders were… not there. Varric stood beside Merrill, looking up at her with a smirk.

"Then let's go in! We're wasting time out here anyway! Just don't go off on your own, Daisy. The men here aren't near as nice as your clansmen." Varric waved the Hawkes over, then corralled them into the tavern.

The crash of a body hitting the wall exploded from ahead of them, and Varric waited patiently for the humans (and elf) to stand to the side and out of the way so that he could see what was going on. Indeed a man had hit a wall, and he was holding his head and trying to figure out where he was. His other companions were all in various poses on the ground, from cupping their balls in pain to staring dizzy-eyed at the wood of the counter. The last one standing was being held up by a tan skinned beauty in…

Well, Varric assumed at least dwarves could call that a dress. It was more a long-ish tunic on the human woman. From the gold jewelry to the blue bandana to the sun-kissed skin to the saucy sway of her hips to the twin daggers she held,- one of which at the throat of the fool who'd pissed her off- she looked exactly like the kind of pirate Varric would right into one of his books.

"So, tell me, are you feeling _lucky_?"

Yep. Definitely a pirate.

The guy being held up ran, and Varric watched them go with an amused chuckle, and the woman went back to her drinks with a smirk. She was still flipping her knife, and Varric just _knew_ she was showing off.

And, there goes Merrill. Varric facepalmed as the little elf did exactly what Varric had told her _not _to do and bounded up to meet this new, strange, savvy woman. And, to be honest, Varric did see the allure. The woman had the golden-eyes, fierce look of a Fereldan with the curvy shape and strutting confidence of an Antivan and the tall, sharp elegance of an Orlesian. She had it all, and sweet, innocent Merrill was drawn to that.

And then she turned her golden eyes on Hawke, and Varric just _knew_ this wouldn't end well.


	7. Act 1: Scene 6

**Hey! New Chapter! I hope this one's better than the last. **

**Word Count: 3,666 (It feels like these just keep getting shorter)**

**Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence (sorta kinda?), Harsh Language, Abuse/Physical assault, Dragons.**

* * *

**Act I: Scene VI- The Usual Kirkwall Scene.**

"What did we say about jobs that involved running laps around Kirkwall at midnight? We said we'd avoid them. Now what are we doing? _Running laps around Kirkwall at midnight_."

Amell choked on a laugh at Carver's grumbling as he searched through the belongings of one of the mercenaries who'd attacked Isabela. Some gold, a little idol of malachite, a scrap of paper with nothing on it…

"Found it!" Carver cheered, holding up a piece of parchment with absolutely _horrid_ handwriting scrawled across it in ink. Isabela snatched it out of his hand, flipping it a couple times before reading it.

"That. Blighted. Bastard!"

Isabela crumpled up the piece of paper in her fist and hurled it into the air, turning and stalking away before it even hit the ground. Hawke just shrugged before he and Merrill followed. Carver and Amell shared slightly confused looks.

"What are we even doing out here?" Carver wondered, sounding so lost. Amell's mouth worked for a few moments as he tried to find words before he finally pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged helplessly.

"Of course," Isabela snarled, storming down the street. "Sends shitfaces to do his dirty work for him, the hides out in the Chantry! The Chantry! Like he thinks I won't paint the place red with his blood!"

"Isabela, no." Hawke's voice was chastising, as though Isabela was a small child, and the pirate glared at him. He raised his hands placatingly, though it was completely negated by the smirk tugging at his lips. "Use at least some discretion."

She didn't. She really didn't. The raiders didn't stand a chance against the pirate's whirling blades alone, much less combined with Amell's and Carver's swords, and Hawke's and Merrill's magic. Amell felt bad for whoever would have to clean the blood out of the rugs and stone.

_Two fights in the Chantry in as many months, _Amell noted grimly. _If that's not a bad omen, I don't know what is._ Isabela, at least, looked pleased with herself as she wiped her blades on on the coat of a dead mercenary.

"Well, that's done!" she crowed. Her chest bounced as she bounded up to the mage. Amell could see how it would be alluring, but his cousin just frowned at the pirate. "You have my thanks, Serah Hawke!"

"I was _trying_ to talk him down," Hawke grumbled, toeing one of the dead with his boot. Isabela laughed, high and easy.

"Trust me," she assured, her voice strangely ominous even through its cheer, "it's better this way." Hawke gave her a doubtful look, but almost as soon as soon as she was done with Hawke, she gravitated towards Merrill.

"So, what's a sweet thing like you doing with men like these three?"

Poor Merrill looked so confused.

They ended the night at the Hanged Man, dirty and grimy and probably with a bit of blood still staining their hems, but drinking and laughing. The place buzzed with activity (Though "buzzed" would probably be a mild term for such a roar). Even in Varric's suit, the party wasn't completely immune to the noise; over cards, however, the party only seemed to add to it. Isabela was winning, by far. There was some sort of sleight of hand involved, Fenris was sure of it, but he was never quite quick enough to catch her. He'd paid for that in both coin and clothing: he was down a three sovereigns- _borrowed_ sovereigns, he promised he'd pay Hawke back- and a pauldron.

The others were more or less in the same state; Merrill, Carver, and Aveline had all dropped from the game when the ante had switched from coin to clothes, but Hawke was down a few sovereigns and his upper robe, Varric was down the same amount of gold and his coat and boots, and Isabela had lost little but two sovereigns and her black lace panties. Anders hadn't participated at all. Something about Justice not thinking gambling was a very appropriate pastime, or maybe not appreciating the lewd looks Anders had received during their prior games.

And those had been without Isabela.

The abomination was currently holding a conversation with Hawke over Healing Magic theory or something of the sort- Fenris tried to tune it out. It reminded him a bit too much of listening to Danarius talk with another magister about his last study or blood magic ritual. Isabela was trying to teach Merrill how to hide cards in places men (and some women) wouldn't even dare look. Varric and Aveline were trading barbs, the table keeping a rather firm barrier between them to keep them from choking each other. Fenris had the feeling all the alcohol Aveline had been drinking wasn't helping at all; he knew better than to think something as weak as ale would affect Varric.

Carver was staring at Fenris, eyes full of curiosity and confusion.

"Spit it out already, Carver," Fenris snapped, throwing his cards down on the table, followed soon after by one of his clawed gloves.

"You're very different from other elves," Carver noted rhetorically. Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? You know them all?"

Carver shook his head, looking as though he was actually _thinking_ about his next response for once. "No. I just... you look different. There's no denying that." He fidgeted, hands wringing in his lap. "You walk differently. You stand differently. You _fight_ differently." He waved his hands in the general direction of… nowhere, really. "All of them I've seen are into little knives of bows. I have never seen an elf wield a greatsword with _one hand."_

"It is what I am," Fenris stated firmly, uninterested in Carver's pseudo-complements. "My fighting skills are all I can be proud of."

"Do we know anyone who isn't brooding every hour of the day?" Carver wondered. He stared into his drink for a moment as though something were going to leap out and claw him in the face like one of Anders's cats, then he shrugged and tipped it back.

Fenris half-smiled almost grimly. "Like attracts like, it seems."

Merrill's high-pitched squealing drew them out of their little bubble.

"That's not- Isabela!"

"Trust me, Merrill," Isabela said, tossing her next winning hand onto the table, "it works every time."

…

Fenris allowed himself to wander the market a bit while Hawke and Amell argued with a merchant who was apparently the owner of a failing mine. The merchant seemed to have a particular discrimination against Fereldans, and was managing to rub Hawke in all the wrong ways. The only redeeming factor in this situation was that Carver was not with them. If the younger Hawke was there, Fenris was fairly certain this would have turned into a murder scene.

Another argument on the upper tier of the market caught Fenris's attention: one of those voices was familiar. Aveline?

"... I'm sorry, Serrah. I simply cannot help you with this. This is a domestic matter; the Kirkwall guard cannot step in."

"But my wife is missing! Surely you have friends outside the guard that can look into this for me! Because clearly you guards are useless!"

"No disrespect, Serrah," oh no- Aveline sounded angry, "and I certainly don't mean to imply anything, but it almost sounds as though you care more about what status your wife brings you more than you care about the woman herself. Your complaints, however, have been dutilly noted. Perhaps I can find someone with the time to deal with your problem for you."

Aveline's armor clanked harshly as she stomped down the stairs, and Fenris raised an eyebrow from where he leaned against the stone.

"Despicable husbands?"

"Don't even get me started," Aveline grumbled angrily. "I'll end up explaining it to Hawke later, anyway, if you want to hear all about it. He's offering a reward of three sovereigns, and Maker knows every little bit of money helps."

Fenris shrugged, but… It did sound fairly interesting. But it was something to think about later, because Hawke and Amell were finally done with the merchant, and Hawke looked like murder incarnate. They were going to a mine called "The Bone Pit": apparently the merchant had gotten a bunch of his Fereldan workers killed and wanted to know how.

"Feel like doing some investigating while you get ready for your little excursion?" Aveline asked Hawke, falling in beside him. "A man's been searching for his missing wife, and put up a reward for anyone who could find her."

"Oh?" the Fereldan mage wondered, eyebrow raised. "And just how much is he offering?" Aveline sighed as if that's exactly what she had been expecting of the man.

"Three sovereigns, and an excuse to visit the whorehouse."

"I'll take it," Hawke responded immediately. He turned towards the stairs to Lowtown and started walking. "We'll check that out tonight, and leave for the Bone Pit in the morning. I need to ask Varric about a thing he's been trying to get for me before we leave town again."

"What kind of thing?"

"A _thing_. A _personal thing_. You'll see it when I get it."

"Meaning it's illegal."

"No," Hawke protested far too cheerfully. "Just very hard to find!"

Fenris had the distinct feeling it was the kind of thing that wasn't illegal just because nobody knew anything about it.

It took Fenris a moment to notice that Aveline had parted ways at the start of the steps, and that they were not heading towards Lowtown, but- rather- the Gallows.

"I've never been to a Circle outside the Imperium," Fenris remarked, looking up at the great tower that once held any number of slaves, now converted to hold mages. How fitting… "Are you certain it's wise, considering our company?" Fenris sent Hawke a pointed glance. The man shrugged as they reached the top of the stairs.

"I tend to be pretty discreet, and as far as I've seen the Circles don't even-"

A high, terrified voice floated out of one of the side alleys, accompanied by voices far too gruff to be friendly.

"Please, Ser! Please don't take him! We'll be good, we promise! Just please don't take Mr. Kale!"

"Do you believe this cunt? Namin' this flea-ridden beast. We should just kill it here, should we boys?!" The men laughed, and Fenris felt a sick pit in his stomach.

As Hawke and the group rounded the corner, they came upon the scene of a young mage struggling to free himself from the grip of two Templars to get to the third, who held a fairly small cat in his too-tight grip.

"Please!" the mage cried, tears threatening to spill down his- her? their- face. "We'll do anything, we promise! Don't hurt Mr. Kale, please!"

The Templar holding the cat leered in a way that definitely made Fenris uncomfortable.

"Anything, huh?" he purred darkly, holding the cat by its neck in one hand while drawing a small blade with the other.

"Hey!" Hawke shouted, startling the Templars. His voice held a strict, authoritative tone that Fenris had never heard him use before, but it definitely got the scumbags' attention. "What the bloody hell are you three doing back here?! Don't you know the Knight-Commander's been looking for you for the past hour?! He's going to have your hide, I just know it!"

All three Templars freaked out. They dashed for the exit of the alley like the Maker's wrath was on their heels. Fenris watched them go, impressed. Hawke's cooing brought his gaze back to the Templar's victim.

The mage the Templars had been holding sat on the ground against the wall, cat in their tight but gentle hug. Now that Fenris could get a good look at them, they really looked androgynous- not quite sharp enough to be male, but certainly not soft enough to be female. They were at least fifteen, sixteen at a stretch, their hair black and cut about Fenris's length around their face, and ruby earrings studded their ears. The smile that lit up their face almost made Fenris miss the tears streaming down their cheeks. Almost.

"Hey," Hawke cooed, crouching down in front of them. "Hey, are you alright? Those guys didn't hurt you, did they?"

The mage looked up at Hawke, red-rimmed, dark eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh, no!" they protested quickly. "We're fine. We think, at least-"

"Irelia!"

The soft cry from the entrance of the alley had Fenris and Hawke whirling around in surprise, hands reaching for weapons. There stood a red-haired elhven mage in Circle robes, leaning on her staff heavily to compensate for her lame leg. She rushed forward as quickly as her disability would allow, kneeling carefully to check Irelia for injuries.

"Oh, thank goodness! You're okay! Samson was so worried when you ran off this morning!"

"We're sorry!" Irelia cried as the red-haired woman helped them to their feet, never letting go of their cat. "We just really needed to see you!"

"Then you should have waited for Samson, and he would have brought you to the usual meeting place!" the red-haired woman scolded, helping Irelia brush themself off. "You can't come here on your own. You know this." The woman turned to Hawke and Fenris, bowing deeply. "Thank you both. I do not know what I might have done had Irelia been hurt." She straightened and smiled. "My name is Ariana. And this is Irelia, my charge. Irelia, darling, tell the kind men that you're thankful for them saving you."

"Thank you!" they chirped happily, hugging their cat.

"It's nothing," Hawke insisted. "My name is Hawke, and this is Fenris. If I might ask, are they you're…"

"Child?" Ariana finished for him. "Goodness, no. And neither is Samson their father, but we might as well be their parents with how poorly their own treated them for being a mage." She ruffled Irelia's hair and sighed. "Speaking of Samson: shouldn't you be getting back to him? I'm certain he's worried sick!"

Irelia chirped a quick "yes, ma'am" before rushing down the back-alleys and out of sight.

"Are you sure they should be-" Hawke began, but Ariana seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict what he was going to say.

"Going alone?" she finished for him again. "Irelia knows the back alleys well enough. They'll be fine." She bowed to Hawke once more. "I must thank you again, though. Here," she handed him a pouch of coins. "Take this. I have no need of such a thing in the Circle, but I must repay you for saving Irelia."

"It was nothing, but I thank you," Hawke said respectfully. Ariana nodded.

"Maker's blessings be upon you."

With that, she hobbled back to the main courtyard of the Gallows. Fenris watched her go for a bit with a sliver of interest, then turned back to Hawke, who was staring at the space where Irelia once was with an eerily blank expression.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked. When he received no response, he said the mage's name again, this time with more purpose. "Hawke." Said man turned towards him, blinking as though dazed. "You need something from here?" Fenris suggested.

"Right," Hawke said distractedly. With more confidence, he said, "Right. Let's get going."

As it turned out, Hawke's entire reason for going up into the Gallows was to argue with one particular apothecary about the price of some rather rare herbs they'd found on Sundermount, but Anders had not been able to use because they were poisonous. They were dried and still good, and Hawke fetched a pretty payment for them, but Fenris hardly thought it worth the risk of walking right into one of the most dangerous places in the city- at least, one of the most dangerous places in the city for Hawke to be. Fenris didn't really have anything to fear from the Templars, lest they suddenly decide to become Imperium bounty hunters.

Leaving the Gallows, Fenris spared one more look at the black statues, and he thought, for but a moment, that he understood their suffering.

…

A dragon. There had been a freaking _dragon_, at the freaking _Bone Pit_. The place was supposed to be a _mine_, not a _dragon nesting spot_!

Hawke grumbled moodily as he began to harvest the dragon for ingredients. The blood made a good, stronger substitute for etching acid when making runes, or could be used in various alchemical formulas… Anders would have a freaking field day with the stuff. Probably.

"What is with you and getting into situations like this, Hawke?" Varric grumbled, trying to wipe the dragon's blood off of his precious Bianca. "Witches that have to be at least a few centuries old, apostates possessed by angry spirits of Justice, ex-Tevinter slaves being chased by their old masters, and now dragon hunting?" Carver snorted, and even Fenris chuckled a bit.

"I get lucky," Hawke joked with a grin, corking and scoring another vial of the dragon's blood. That should be about enough…

"Good luck, or bad, my friend?" Varric chuckled and shook his head. "I can't even tell anymore."

_Probably a good thing_, Hawke mused, picking his staff up from where he had rested it on the ground. The dragon's blood had already corroded the metal blade and grip, and was still working at the tempered wood. It probably wasn't usable anymore… With a sigh, Hawke worked the crystal off the end of the staff and tossed the rest beside the dragon's carcass.

"Let's go," he said, gesturing towards the entrance to the mine. "If we're really lucky today, we'll make it back to the city by nightfall."

They did not.

The distinct sound of two men arguing came from ahead on the path. Hawke spotted them as the group passed the camp- two Templars, one with blonde curly hair and the other with dark brown hair. The blonde one pushed the other down and put the tip of his blade to the man's neck.

"I will know what you're hiding, recruit!" he shouted. Hawke shook his head, but approached them.

"And here I thought Templars only treated mages like that," Hawke remarked snarkily. "Nice to see you're branching out."

"This does not concern you, citizen," the blonde Templar snapped. The man beneath him, however, began _cackling_.

_Demons_. Hawke cursed, quickly backing away from the sudden onslaught of Fade creatures as Carver leaped forward to assist the Templar. He didn't have a weapon, and he couldn't use magic without risking the Templar noticing-

There was the distinct _whoosh_ of a blade behind him, and Hawke whirled around in time to see a Shade returning to the Fade and Fenris with his blade bared. The elf grabbed him by the arm and pulled him behind his smaller form, Fenris putting himself between Hawke and the demons.

"You've a dagger, Hawke?" the elf growled, and Hawke nodded quickly, hands scrambling for the knife he now remembered he had. Fenris huffed. "Then use it."

Hawke fumbled with his weapon, and Fenris kept close to the mage to compensate. He utilized magic with his blade, though, subtle and almost-unnoticeable but devastating to the demons. Fenris worked to keep his tattoos down in its presence. He was surprised to find that Hawke's magic did not agitate them; they lit up pretty quickly, yes, but they did not hurt. Not like they did with Danarius- _he is not Danarius_.

The last of the demons dissipated, and Hawke leaned heavily on Fenris by the time it was done. But when the remaining Templar turned on them, Fenris watched the mage straighten up and take on a more confident, stronger look.

"Demons," the Templar spat. Hawke just shrugged.

"With all I've seen in Kirkwall? Demons get pretty normal after a while. Garrett Hawke, by the way. I don't know: am I supposed to tell you my name first, or are you supposed to tell me yours?" The Templar didn't even scoff, just gave Hawke an assessing look. The mage stared back with just as much sharpness, until the Templar averted his eyes.

"I wanted to know where the recruits have been going, but this…" the Templar mourned. He stiffened up quickly, his voice becoming far more serious. "I intended to look into where the recruits had been last, in hopes of finding any leads, but… well, Knight-Captains are not automatically trusted in brothels."

"'Knight-Captain'?" Hawke snarked. "Should I just call you that? Or do you have a name?"

The Templar had enough sense to look embarrassed. "Oh! Of course. My apologies, Serrah Hawke. I am Knight-Captain Cullen. I followed this recruit out here in hopes of finding out what he was up to, but-"

"Demons really surprised you?" Hawke wondered with a wry grin. "And here I was under the assumption you Templars saw demons and apostates everywhere." Cullen bristled.

"We do not go about accusing without proper cause," he snarled. "And we certainly do not deal out sentences without thorough investigation."

"If you're the only ones that hear the details of these 'investigations', how in the world are we supposed to know whether the accusation was false or not?" Hawke shot back. When Cullen didn't respond immediately, he shook his head. "Of course. _You_ don't even know the details of half of these investigations, do you?"

Cullen looked _furious_, and Amell quickly stepped in.

"_Hawke_," he hissed, pushing his cousin back towards Fenris before turning to Cullen with a more amiable face. "My apologies, Knight-Captain. My cousin can be quite… well, it's no matter. I apologize on his behalf."

"It is… No matter, yes," Cullen agreed haltingly, and Hawke again marveled at his cousin's charisma. "More important are the missing recruits. I could not possibly investigate the Blooming Rose, but-"

"An excuse to visit the brothel?" Hawke cut in. "Why didn't you just say something earlier, _Ser _Cullen? We can handle it."

Amell groaned, burying his face in his hands. Cullen looked vaguely amused. Hawke was smirking.


End file.
